Tuesday's Gone
by Neviana
Summary: UPDATED, CH 20 She always had a way of surprising him. Everything from emptying her glock into the ceiling of the Bebop when he left to the icy glare she gave him upon his return. Though somehow, this stunt seemed to top them all ... SpikeXFaye.
1. Can't Always Get What You Want

**Chapter One: **

**Can't Always Get What You Want**

* * *

_I saw her today at the reception  
In her glass was a bleeding man  
She was practiced at the art of deception  
Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands_

-- The Rolling Stones

* * *

He took another long drag from his cigarette, closing his eyes as he exhaled. The sweet and slow melody of violins drifted into the lounge from an adjacent room and mingled with the sound of cocktail talk and ice clinking in half-full glasses.

He opened his eyes and blinked once, then twice, letting his eyes readjust to the low lighting. He was anxious to hear just how she'd pulled this one off. Who she'd conned, robbed, or killed to get to these people, this room, the ten layer cake, the high-ceilinged cathedral enveloped in rich silks and white lilies. The isle strewn with cherry blossom petals, the thick perfume of flowers, slow melting candles and—

Or maybe it wasn't as complicated as all that. Maybe he should be asking…who the hell'd she have to marry?

He spotted her against a white lily backdrop. She was thinner now, and even though she was draped in yards of bright white silk, he could still make out her delicate hipbones jutting from her small frame—and the long, graceful curve of her collar bone hidden just beneath her pale skin. Her hair was a shade darker now, and longer. It was pulled tight against her head in some elaborate updo. The diamond strand that was wound into her dark curls caught the light and sparkled wildly – they gleamed almost as bright as her thick, glossy hair.

And still there was something familiar about her, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He smirked, taking another drag off his cigarette. She still hadn't spotted him.

She was talking to someone – a tall, thin woman he didn't recognize. Her lips pulled back into a slow smile and she took a sip from her wine glass. He watched intently as light and shadow slid over the dark liquid along the smooth glass to her lips. She looked to him so different—like a dream.

And then her eyes were on him. Cold, glassy, emerald eyes.

He expected she'd drop her glass against the smooth marble floor. He saw it all in slow motion—the crystal shattering into a million glinting pieces without a sound, the dark wine splashing magnificently against floor, scattering, and staining red the bottom of that long, silk gown. Her perfect lips parting slow and even as her perfect eyes widened in accord.

Instead, her eyes narrowed. She swallowed hard, and then turned with a smile back to the tall woman who continued to talk in her direction.

He raised a brow in mild irritation. Surely she must have recognized him. It had only been a year and a half, for Christ's sake.

He took one last drag from his cigarette, then crushed it against the glossy mahogany table at his side. He took one long step toward her. Then another. And another.

And as he crossed the room it seemed to spin around him in brilliant steaks of white and cream and brown. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Or the nicotine.

Or the sight of Faye—Faye Valentine—looking so delicate, so calm, so graceful … and so utterly alone in a crowded room.

* * *

"Congratulations, Romani."

Faye turned toward him, her brow knitted again in frustration. Before she could respond, the woman at her side turned to her, placing her hand on Faye's upper arm.

"Faye?" she asked, smiling, "do you know this man?"

"No. No—I mean—would you excuse us please, Rosaline?"

Rosaline winked. "Oh. I understand…old boyfriend?"

Faye's eyes fell on his for a moment, and he saw something in them he couldn't recognize. "Something like that," she said.

Rosaline cracked a smug smile and eyed him critically. "Of course," she said, the grin playing at her lips widening. "Well. I'll be along then. Nice seeing you again, Faye."

Faye offered a polite smile and waited until the woman was out of earshot before speaking to him.

"Spike," she breathed through clenched teeth, "what are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you again, too, Faye," he said, placing another cigarette between his lips. He fished in his coat pocket for his Zippo, taking care to avoid making eye contact with her.

"Spike…" she said his name again, though this time not as tersely. Okay, that was progress. He stopped what he was doing momentarily to regard her, his eyebrows lifted in mock interest.

"Mm?"

Faye's eyes narrowed. "There's no smoking here."

"Really?" he asked, pulling his Zippo from his pocket.

"Really." She pulled the cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the floor.

Spike shrugged and tucked the lighter back into his pocket. "Dead man walking, Faye. I thought you'd be surprised to see me."

"I'm not an idiot, Spike. I knew you weren't dead."

"Since when?"

"Since they asked me to ID the body."

He shrugged again, smiling. "I thought it was a pretty good match. Jet pulled some strings with the ISSP. Not that you would know that … since you left." He paused for a moment, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. "So how'd you know?"

Faye took a breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"It's my _wedding_ reception," she said incredulously.

"I noticed," he said, lifting his hand to touch one of her earrings. The intricate diamond design shimmered even as it lay limply across his fingers.

She swatted his hand away, "Please, leave."

"I'm impressed. I bet that 300 million you owe has all but disappeared."

"Spike…leave."

"Of course…I wouldn't want to insinuate that the reason you married the poor sap was to eliminate that nasty debt of yours." Spike tucked his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "So, do you love him?"

"What?" she spat, crossing her arms over her chest. He didn't reply and she sighed and continued. "I'm happy now, Spike, all right?"

"I asked if you loved him."

"Does it really matter?"

"Well – " he drawled.

"To _you_?"

He shrugged. "Guess not."

Faye placed a hand on her hip and drummed her fingers restlessly over the bone as though she were waiting to come up with a novel response. "Yes, I love him, okay? Now, leave."

"You don't even want to know why I came?"

"Okay, Spike. Why did you come?"

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a neatly folded paper. Faye raised a brow as he placed it in her hand.

"Jack Bosch. 100 million woolongs."

Faye unfolded the paper and sighed. "A bounty, Spike?"

He nodded.

"No," she said, shoving the paper back at him.

"Jet and I can't handle this alone."

"_No_," she said firmly.

"It will be just like old times," he said with a smile.

"No, it won't be 'just like old times,' all right? I have—a _life_ now. I'm married—"

"Come on, Faye."

"Why is this bounty so important to you, anyway? Just go after someone else."

Spike ran a hand through his thick hair. "We sort of owe someone a lot of money. Faking your own death isn't exactly cheap. Or easy. You know the only man to pull it off? Elvis."

Faye sighed, closing her eyes. "Christ, Spike…" When she opened them, she turned to look at a man over her shoulder. Spike stood on his toes, attempting to catch a glimpse of the man he assumed was her husband. He was tall. Really tall. Dark hair, dark skin. He winked, flashing Faye a brilliant smile.

And handsome. He should have guessed Faye would fall for a guy like that. Real slick. And dangerous.

"All right," she said, turning back to Spike. "We'll think about it."


	2. Arc of Time

**Chapter Two: Arc of Time  
**

* * *

**A/N: Back again with chapter two! Thank you to everyone who has been reading – I really hope your enjoying the story. I feel a bit better about this chapter, though I'm wondering if it's bordering on cheesy. Anyhow, criticism is greatly appreciated, and chapter three will be out shortly. And now, like sands through the hourglass – oh, wait, wrong story…  
**

* * *

_And then in you'll come  
With those marching drums  
In a saintly compromise  
No more whiskey slurs  
No more blonde haired girls  
For your whole eternal life  
And you'll do the dance  
That was choreographed  
At the very dawn of time  
Singing, I told you son  
The day would come  
You would die … _

-- Bright Eyes

* * *

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, crossing and then re-crossing her legs. She'd always hated hospitals, and now that she'd seen a morgue, she decided it wasn't all that different. The small room smelled almost sickeningly clean. Bleach – pine sol – and the faintest hint of formaldehyde.

_ "Why me?" she asked._

_ "Mr. Spiegel has no known living family members. You were the only person we could contact. You and a Mr. … Jet Black. Who, as of yet, we have been unable to reach."_

_ She swallowed, staring blankly at the white-coated woman on her comm. screen. The line was silent, save for the soft hiss of static._

_ "Miss Valentine? Can you identify the body?"_

_ "Not without seeing his face."_

The entire situation seemed a bit strange to her. The coroner called for her to ID the body weeks after Spike's disappearance. Where exactly had he been, anyway? At the bottom of the deepest ocean on Ganymede? Of course, knowing Spike, that really wouldn't surprise her.

Faye sighed, tucking a loose strand of her violet hair behind her ear. Just as she considered bolting from the waiting room, a woman in a white lab coat appeared from behind the large steel double doors leading into the morgue.

"Miss Valentine," she said, motioning to the open door.

Faye stood, nervously smoothing her yellow shorts over her thighs and followed the woman into the morgue.

They walked between what seemed like endless glinting, silver walls. The cold chamber. How fitting.

The woman stopped in front of one of the chamber doors.

"Ready?" Her voice was steady – removed, even. Cold.

Faye just nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

The woman opened the door and, in one smooth motion, pulled the long table from the chamber.

Faye drew in a long, slow breath. His normally thick, green hair looked black matted against his head. A thin, barely visible crust of blood trailed from his hairline down his temple to his neck. She imagined it must have been a thick river once. The coroner must have missed the residue when she cleaned the rag that quickly became saturated with his blood –

She suppressed the shudder that was rising in her spine and moved her eyes down his form.

His angular shoulder bones looked as though they might tear through his thin, pale flesh, and patches of his skin were visibly stained by blood that had since been wiped clean.

The rest of the body was covered by a thin, white sheet. She had to look away.

"Miss Valentine?"

"What?'

"The body. Is it – "

"His eyes. I need – I need to see his eyes."

The woman looked puzzled for a moment, hesitating. When Faye said nothing, she shrugged, pulling the corpse's eyelids back.

One was noticeably darker than the other that was for sure. And still – something missing …

"No," she said, lifting her eyes from the body.

"What do you mean, no?"

"It isn't him," Faye replied simply. Before the woman could respond Faye turned on her heel and left.

* * *

She reached into her pocket and fished around for her pack of cigarettes as she stepped out of the morgue and into the bright hallway. She blinked a few times, letting her eyes readjust to the light before pulling the Zippo from her pocket. As she flipped the top open, she felt a rough hand close around her upper arm.

Faye turned to face a tall, smiling man in a dark pinstripe suit.

"I don't have the money," she said, the cigarette still resting between her lips, "Maybe if you get back to me in – "

The man's smile widened, "I assure you, Miss Valentine, I haven't the least interest in collecting your debts. Now, would you mind coming with me? It will only take a moment."

She leaned in front of the man, craning her neck to see around the corner. Two similarly dressed men were standing on either side of a large, metal door.

Faye pulled the cigarette from her lips, sliding it back into the half-empty pack. "Yeah. Sure."

"Good. Follow me."

The man walked stiffly down the hallway. Faye followed cautiously, attempting to make as little noise as possible.

The man to the left of the door opened it, while the one on the right motioned for them to step inside.

The room was small and plain. A metal table stood in the center of the room, with two matching chairs on either side. A hanging lamp overhead offered the only light in the room. It reminded Faye of the interrogation rooms the police used.

"Please, sit."

Faye did as she was told. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and crossed her legs.

"Cigarette, Miss Valentine?"

"No, thank you," she replied curtly.

The man gave her another half-smirk, settling back in his chair. He was rather handsome. Dark, short hair, dark complexion, deep set eyes, and full, plump lips.

"Very well, then."

"Tell me why I'm here."

"I'm Kennedy, by the way," he said, drawing a cigarette from his pack.

Faye raised a brow.

"Luke Kennedy." He paused to light his cigarette. "Tell me what you know about Spike Spiegel."

Faye hesitated, "He's dead. There isn't much to know."

"Oh? I don't believe that's what you told the nurse."

"I said the body she showed me wasn't him. I never said he was alive."

Luke nodded, "Would you tell me the same story if I offered to make that nasty debt of yours disappear?"

"What business do you have with Spike?"

"You might say I've a score to settle with him," he took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly, "he managed to kill quite a few of our best men before – disappearing."

Faye breathed in sharply, "Then you're – "

He withdrew the lighter from his pocket again, placing it on the table in front of Faye. She could clearly make out the emblazoned Red Dragon emblem on the face of the lighter. She closed her eyes tightly. "Fuck."

"Now, don't you find that a bit odd, Miss Valentine? A man disappears – I mean, presumably, is dead – for weeks and then suddenly the body's found? You're a smart woman. I assume you already knew all of this."

"Even considering that's true, it doesn't mean that he's necessarily alive somewhere. Or that I know anything about his current location."

Luke nodded. "So do you?"

"No."

"I see."

There was a long silence then. Luke took one last drag off his cigarette and crushed it between his fingers. Faye kept her eyes on him expectantly. He withdrew another cigarette from his pack, raising his brow in silent offering to Faye. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Shrugging, he placed it between his lips and lifted the lighter off the table. A flicker of orange and shadow danced on the wall behind him. It stopped. He slipped the lighter back into his coat pocket.

He leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice a little. "Like I said, Miss Valentine, if you're willing to cooperate … "

"What exactly are you asking me to do?"

He slid a gun across the table to Faye. She eyed it for a moment. It looked familiar – familiar nicks and scratches, the color… It was Spike's Jericho.

"Join us," he said.

Faye picked the gun up off the table, letting her fingers trail over the cool metal.

"You want me to lead him to you?"

"Come now, Faye – can I call you Faye? – I'd never dream of using a woman like that." Another drag, a puff of smoke. "I want you to kill him."

She set the gun down on the table. "I don't particularly care for Spike. But I don't want him dead."

Luke nodded, reaching for the Jericho. "You're free to leave then, Faye."

She rose slowly and walked toward the door.

"Although – " His voice echoed in the room.

Faye stopped as her hand fell on the door knob. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

"Why protect him? Though I can't say I know much about your relationship, I know for a fact you were – nothing to him."

She stiffened.

"You know as well as I do that Julia – "

Faye clenched her teeth. Julia.

" – was the only woman that was real to him."

She let out a tense breath, and repeated more weakly this time, "I don't want him dead."

Her eyes were still closed, but she could hear Luke moving behind her. His gentle footfalls moved closer, and soon his body was nearly pressed against hers.

"He abandoned you," he said lowly, breathing into her ear.

"That isn't going to work, you know," she said evenly. "Spike and I were never romantically involved."

"That may be, but it doesn't change the fact that your comrade – the man you lived and worked with for years – left you for … for what? A good fuck?" He laughed bitterly, withdrawing the gun from his coat and dragging the cool metal of the barrel against Faye's skin.

She shuddered, "How do you know he'll come back?"

"He has no one else to return to now. Why wouldn't he come crawling back?"

"And the money?"

He brought the gun to her hand, closing her fingers around the grip.

"It will be taken care of."

His hand was still resting on the gun, his finger lay against hers on the trigger.

"I'll do it," she said.

Luke lowered his lips to hear ear again. Warm breath fluttered lightly over her ear. He pulled her finger flush against the trigger, and the sound of metal snapping against metal echoed throughout the room.

"Bang."


	3. Touch

**Chapter Three: Touch**

* * *

_(You are new and near now  
To someone you used to love when you were young  
When all was gold and you two touched  
And felt the flutter underneath your skin  
You stood in glowing rooms  
The light dripping from both of you  
And nothing since has felt as radiant or real)_

___And there is nothing more I want than just one night  
That's free of doubt and sadness  
One night that I can really feel_

_-- Bright Eyes  
_

* * *

He had that satisfied smirk on his face again. Just seeing him standing there, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, was beginning to grate on her nerves. 

"Are we done here?"

"I thought you'd introduce me."

"To whom, exactly?"

"Your uh … husband?"

"He's actually very b – "

"Oh, you must be Spike!" he said, extending his hand.

Faye sighed and rested her head in her right hand, covering her eyes.

"Right. And you're – "

"Kennedy."

Faye rolled her eyes. As if she hadn't heard this one enough.

"Luke Kennedy."

"Oh," the smirk returned to Spike's face. "So you must be Faye Kennedy now, huh?"

"Must be," she said with a smile.

"Faye has told me so much about you, Spike." Luke flashed another brilliant smile. She almost hated admitting to herself that she found him devastatingly handsome.

"Wish I could say the same."

Faye grinned nervously, latching onto Luke's arm, "Well, Spike, we'd love to stay, but we really ought to be seeing the guests out – "

"No, no – that's all right," Luke said, pulling his arm from Faye's grasp. "I'll take care of it. You two must have a lot of catching up to do." He smiled down at Faye for a moment before giving her forehead a light kiss. "I'll see you around, Spike-O."

Spike gave him a slight nod before he turned and walked away. "He seems nice," he said after a moment.

"Oh, please," Faye spat, "Spike-O? You hate that. You find him – insufferable. I can tell."

He shrugged a little, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "I was just making polite conversation."

"Well, don't."

He dropped his head to look down at his shoes. The music and cocktail talk had died down as the guests began to leave. It was replaced by the shuffle of shoes and satin. Far-away sounding goodbyes and light rain.

When his eyes rose to hers again, she took a deep breath.

"So – " she exhaled, "I'll … be in contact."

"Soon?"

"Tomorrow."

Spike nodded, then reached into his suit pocket for his gloves. Faye watched as he pulled each one on slowly.

"A year and a half," he said. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, "and you haven't changed at all."

"What?"

He smirked, pulling the pack of cigarettes from his jacket again. He slid one gently between his lips and let it hang there. "You're still sloppy, Faye. It's cute."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke again before she had a chance.

"The way you barge into crowded rooms, guns blazing. No delicacy, or the slightest sense of subtlety – " he paused for a moment to search for his lighter. "And your uncanny way of divulging all your secrets … "

Faye clenched her fists. She was anything but sloppy.

Spike looked at her and smiled. "Even with your eyes."

"And I suppose you don't?"

"Do I?" he asked casually. One flick the lighter and smoke curled over his head.

"I don't have time for games, Spike. Just go."

He took a drag and pulled the cigarette from his lips. Exhaling, he took a step toward her. Then another. Her breath hitched as he leaned against her, his chest barely grazing hers.

"By the way – "

His voice was low and his breath hot on her ear. She closed her eyes in an attempt to steady herself, but when he spoke again, she felt them flutter.

"That glock strapped to your right thigh?" he pushed the outside of his knee against her inner thigh. The feeling of the cool metal against her bare skin caused her to gasp, "I've known about it all night."

When he pulled away her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. And there is was. The look he'd been waiting for.

He smirked again, brining the cigarette to his lips. "But like I said – it's cute."

* * *

"I told you he'd be back," Luke said, loosening his necktie. 

Faye slid her feet out of her heels and pressed them flat against the cool wooden floor of their bedroom. She sat straighter in her chair and stared blankly into her vanity mirror. "Uh huh," she said, removing a pin from her hair. A section of violet curls fell to her shoulders.

"Do you think he suspects anything?"

Another pin clattered against the vanity. "No."

He was holding something back – she could tell. She caught his reflection in the mirror behind her. His jaw was clenched.

She removed the last pin and dropped in against slick marble top of the vanity. The last of her curled hair fell to her shoulders, making her suddenly feel cold.

"You think I should go with him?"

"Of course. Being there a while might give you a chance to break him. Lower his guard."

She reached for the diamond choker around her neck. It sparkled madly in the low lamplight as she unclasped it. "You talk about him like he's an animal."

Luke grunted, "As if he isn't?"

Without responding she reached for an earring, removing the back.

Luke crossed the room and stood behind her chair. He grasped the back of it with his hands.

"I love you, Faye – "

She smiled slowly. If Luke was anything, it was predictable. Those words never stood alone. They were always the prelude to a threat.

" – but you know if you fuck this up – I'll ruin you."

She continued to stare straight ahead into the mirror, her eyes focused on some distant point behind the glass. She took the last earring from her ear and laid it on the table next to the choker. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going to compromise – "

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," his voice remained even, but she could see his knuckles turning white in the mirror. "He was all over you tonight."

"Jealous?"

"Don't get attached. And don't try anything cute. I'll be watching."

"You don't give me enough credit – "

"I've given you plenty. A clean slate and no debt – " he leaned closer to her so that his head was level with hers in the mirror, and lifted her chin gingerly with the fingers of his right hand, " – and a new life. Faye Kennedy."

A new life. She closed her eyes. A new life. Faye Kennedy.

"I'm tired," she said finally, "are you ready for bed?"

Luke stood, the smile returning to his face, "On our wedding night? Surely."

She lifted her hand from the vanity and he gently closed it in his. She rose slowly as he led her to the foot of the bed.

"You looked lovely this evening," he said. He was standing behind her, one hand at her waist, the other toying with the zipper of her dress.

"You didn't look half-bad yourself."

He pulled the zipper in one smooth motion. It hardly made a sound. The dress fell and she heard the smooth sound of satin piling on the floor.

She sighed as she felt his mouth against her neck.

This was what she'd wanted. A new life. A new start. It had all sounded so good.

**A/N: And here's where I delight in my shameless ramblings … muahaha! How'd you like that? A little unresolved sexual tension for you. Mmmm. The Spike and Faye kind, of course. Not the Luke kind.**

** Also, a shout-out to Lex: I wanted to tell you that I read your rant about Julia, and I completely agree. How can anyone NOT like her? She's so damn cool! I can understand not being very attached to her character, though. After all, we really don't see her all that often, and we know next to nothing about her. And that picture of Spike and Julia? So hot!**

** Ahem. Chapter four will be out as soon as it comes together in my head. And on the lappy. So maybe … a few days? It's summer, after all. I've nothing better to do.**

** Till next time, keep reading and reviewing!**

**Kisses,**

**Nevi**


	4. The Beauty of My Surroundings

**Chapter Four: The Beauty of My Surroundings  
**

* * *

_Slipped out the back door like a thief  
I was looking for my getaway ride  
I was trying to escape the alarms  
That were still going off inside  
I took off my disguise  
And I took a look around  
And the sky was a thousand shades of gray  
And the city swarmed a few feet away  
And in my haste to find a way around things  
I was caught by the beauty of my surroundings_

-The Swallows

* * *

The fan overhead buzzed as it spun lazily. Spike sat on the yellow couch turning a playing card over and over again in his hand. The deck sat neatly stacked on the coffee table next to the ashtray.

The smell of shitake stir-fry drifted into the room from the kitchen. He heard the mushrooms hiss followed by the sound of Jet's spatula scraping against the pan.

"You need to fix your fan."

Instead of an answer he heard the clatter of ceramic bowls and silverware. The hissing stopped and was immediately replaced by dead silence.

Spike reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table. He flipped the top open and sighed as he stared into the empty carton.

"And we're out of cigarettes."

Jet appeared around the corner with two bowls of stir-fry in hand.

"You've got money. What happened to the ten thousand you got for our last bounty?"

"Spent it."

Jet raised an eyebrow, then walked over to the couch to hand Spike the bowl and a fork.

"You spent it? On what?"

"Tracking down the girl."

"So you found her?"

"You could say that."

Jet said nothing and settled into the couch next to him. Spike turned the card over in his hands again. Jet had a way of eking every detail out of a story even without saying a word. He'd simply wait until the silence became awkward enough. Frankly, it pissed Spike off to no end.

Spike prodded at his food with his fork for a moment before cautiously taking a bite. The mushrooms were soft and spongy. The texture made him feel nauseous. Or maybe –

"She's married," he said.

Jet shrugged, "Yeah?"

"I saw her at the reception. She's married to some guy named Kennedy."

"_Luke_ Kennedy?" Jet asked.

Spike smirked. Now he had him interested. "That's the one. Guy's slick – a real smooth operator."

"And real rich. The wealthiest man on Mars – or so I hear."

"What's he do?"

"I'm not sure," Jet said, placing his bowl on the table and leaning back into the couch. "I think he's a business tycoon or something."

"I imagine that debt of hers has all but disappeared. You should have seen her, Jet. Decked out in diamonds from head to toe."

"And somehow you're surprised by all this?"

Spike shrugged.

"She couldn't get what she wanted from us. She was bound to get that cash from someone else. A girl like that's not going to wait for a wealthy man to just fall in her lap, you know."

"Yeah."

Spike kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and placed his hands behind his head. He still couldn't wrap his mind around it. The woman he saw at the reception was Faye. She looked so unlike how he remembered her – long, curly hair, rail-thin with a slender, gently curving neck, and deep-set emerald eyes hidden by long lashes and black mascara. Yet there was something familiar about her. Something he couldn't put his finger on, but something that was undoubtedly, genuinely Faye. He sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair.

"So?" Jet asked.

"So, what?"

"So is she coming or not?"

"Oh, she's coming. Probably had to work over that husband of hers, but she's coming."

"When?"

"Hell if I know."

Another long pause. Spike stared blankly at the empty vid screen in front of him until Jet broke the silence.

"What'd she say?"

"About what?"

"About you. Being alive."

"She said she knew all along. They asked her to ID the body."

"How did she know?"

"Didn't say."

Jet grunted, crossing his arms over his chest, "You think she told anyone?"

Spike just shrugged and continued to stare ahead.

"All this trouble just so you could drop off the Red Dragons' radar screen, and she'd be the one to screw it up and blow your cover."

"You say it like it surprises you somehow."

Jet uncrossed his arms, bringing his good hand to his chin. "She's bluffing. She has to be bluffing."

"If it concerns you so much maybe you shouldn't have sent me after her."

"She's all we've got – " Jet paused for a moment, taking a breath, "—and she's good. If you two weren't fighting over bounty heads all the time you might actually make a good team."

Spike smirked, "There's a good one, Jet."

"Don't be so smug, Spike. You're going to be in a world of trouble if we can't pull this one off."

"There's something I haven't heard before."

"All right, be cocky. Get yourself killed again." Jet stood and looked down at him for a moment, "Just know that I won't be the one risking my neck to bail you out again." With that he turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner.

Spike rolled his eyes. Jet always acted more like a father than a comrade. Sighing, he stood and tossed the playing card on the table.

* * *

Faye opened her eyes slowly, squinting into the soft morning light. Taking a deep breath, she sat up and turned to face Luke. He was still asleep, his face turned toward her. His dark, short hair contrasted sharply with the white silk pillow. His full lips were slightly parted and Faye could feel his soft breath fluttering over the delicate skin of her wrist. Seeing him like that almost made her smile – almost made her want to smooth the errant strands of hair away from his eyes. To kiss his forehead, to pull the comforter up over his shoulders.

But she couldn't. She never allowed herself to be that intimate with Luke.

She pulled the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She sighed, resting her head in her hands. _Spike_. She couldn't believe he'd come back. A part of her couldn't believe he was alive. Most of all, though, she couldn't believe they'd be back together on the Bebop – as if nothing had ever happened.

She stood and crossed the room to her closet. She stepped into a pair of plain black heels and brushed a curl away from her face. She'd give him a call before Luke awoke. Find out the location of the Bebop.

She stepped into her skirt and slowly and cautiously. It was just business. No need to get worked up over it. She pulled a thin tank top over her head and brushed her hair over one shoulder.

Taking a breath she walked to her vanity and lifted the heavy glock off the marble countertop. She examined it for a moment, running her fingers over the cool metal. Business. Just … business. She slipped the gun in her purse, zipping it quickly before walking out the door.

* * *

Spike jumped at the sound of his comm. Who could possibly –

"Where are you?"

He smirked at the sound of her voice and picked his comm. up.

"So you actually decided to come?"

"I told you I'd make it."

"Must have been a brief honeymoon."

"Just tell me where I can find the ship."

"We're orbiting Mars. I can have Jet send you the coordinates – "

"No need. I think I see you. Just have him open the hangar."

"Sure thing. Think you can – " Before he could finish his sentence the comm. went dead. He muttered under his breath as he rose from the couch, walking to where Jet sat behind the console.

"She wants you to open the hangar."

"Who? Faye?"

"Who else?"

Jet sighed, pushing a lighted button on the console in front of him. "Tell her I'm opening the hatch."

"She already hung up on me."

"I see you two are off to an early start."

"Don't you remember that conversation we had once, Jet?"

"Refresh my memory."

"The one about women with attitudes. On this ship."

"I told you she's all we've got."

Spike slipped his hands into his deep pants pockets, "I hope you're right about this."

Jet leaned back into his chair. It creaked slightly, the sound resonating throughout the empty ship. "So now you're having second thoughts? What happened to that cocky attitude of yours?"

Spike grunted, "I've just got a bad feeling about it, all right?"

"What makes you say that?"

He shrugged, "You didn't see her there, Jet. She's not the same person. She's – " He was interrupted by the clicking of heels behind him. When he turned around he found himself face to face with Faye.

"I see you two still have nothing to do but sit around and gripe about me. How typical."

Spike swallowed hard. He couldn't take his eyes away from her. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her long violet hair streaming over her shoulders. A knee length black skirt clung tightly to her narrow hips, and the black camisole she wore was thin enough to give the slightest hint of her pale skin underneath. The heels she wore had to have been at least five inches – he couldn't recall her ever wearing heels like that. A white pearl necklace hung gracefully around her neck, contrasting sharply with her black top.

Standing there, eyes locked on his, she looked so foreign to him – like a woman from a dream he couldn't quite remember. But not Faye. He remembered her lounging around the ship in those small, yellow shorts – the top that barely covered her breasts – and never found her particularly exposed. But now as he looked at her, more clothed than ever, she seemed only shades away from total undress. She almost seemed – vulnerable. Yet still there was something inexplicably dark about her. She definitely wasn't Faye. She wasn't Faye Va – Kennedy. No, she was Faye _Kennedy_.

"Spike? Hello?" she waved her hand in front of his face.

"Yeah?"

"I told you to get my things from the Red Tail."

"What – " Before he could finish his sentence she tossed her keys at him and walked past him toward her room. He made an awkward attempt to catch the keys and succeeded in trapping them against his chest. He growled under his breath and craned his neck to watch her walk away. At least one thing hadn't changed. She was still insufferable.

* * *

A/N: I know it has been a long time, friends. I have been very busy lately and I worked hard to get this chapter to you. I know it is long overdue. You may not see another update for at least another three weeks: I am studying in Colorado right now and my schedule is pretty much full. Anyway, thanks for bearing with me -- I hope you're still enjoying the story!

Till next time,

Nevi


	5. Over My Head

**Chapter Five: Over My Head**

* * *

_And suddenly I become a part of your past  
I'm becoming the part that don't last  
I'm losing you and its effortless  
Without a sound we lose sight of the ground  
In the throw around  
Never thought that you wanted to bring it down  
I won't let it go down till we torch it ourselves_

-The Fray

* * *

Spike grumbled to himself as he opened the hatch of the red tail. He had retrieved Faye's luggage from the ship's cargo hold and was attempting to retrieve her handbag from the cockpit. He hoisted himself into the driver's seat and began to reach underneath the seat for her purse when he noticed a small photograph tucked into the control panel of the ship. 

He glanced over his shoulder for a moment before tentatively extending his hand toward the photograph. After letting his fingers trail over the glossy surface he quickly plucked the picture from the control panel.

Luke stared back at him with that same wide, self-assured grin. Not that Spike could blame him. Faye was standing next to him, holding his angular face in her small hands. Eyes closed, her lips were pressed tightly against Luke's cheek. Spike was sure he could make out the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

A large, looping roller coaster stood out in the background of the photograph. He couldn't imagine Faye at an amusement park – let alone imagine her enjoying herself at one. Nevertheless, she seemed carefree. Happy, even.

A passing breeze swept her short violet hair away from her face. Her cheeks and chest were slightly flushed. He imagined it was the result of the summer heat. Or maybe a consequence of the rush she felt on the coaster. Or the thrill of capturing Luke for a quick instant – the snap of the camera's shutter. Or maybe … she loved him.

Grunting, he tossed the photograph aside. At least she was attempting to add some realism to her little charade. He reached for her purse on the floor and then stepped out of the cockpit onto the floor of the hangar. He gathered her luggage in his arms and made his way toward her room. At least he assumed she'd be in her old room – cigarette in hand, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling – just the way he'd remembered her.

* * *

Faye stood in the middle of her room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It was just the way she left it. Bed unmade, a pile of her old clothes pushed into the far right corner, and the dresser strewn with empty cigarette packets and used matches. 

She could almost recall every moment spent in that room. Late nights spent chain-smoking, reviewing that old beta tape which contained a mere sliver of her past life. Grasping at every moment for some kind of meaning.

She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. A loud thudding noise broke the silence in the room. "Open up."

Faye rolled her eyes. She'd hoped in the time she'd been away that Spike would have learned to knock on doors rather than kicking them.

She crossed the room and opened the door for him.

"Bags," he said flatly, as if she needed an explanation.

"Just put them in the corner," she said.

He complied, silently walking to the far corner of the room and dropping her bags rather ungracefully on the floor.

Faye sighed, pursing her lips together and watched as he took two long strides past her toward the door. She took a breath, then exhaled. "You know, if you really didn't want me here – "

"I didn't," he said coldly, turning to face her, "It was Jet's idea. Not mine."

Faye straightened, holding her head a little higher, "That wasn't the impression I had the other night. If I didn't know better I would have thought you missed me." She meant to sound playful – instead the words came out flat, and she couldn't find it in herself to smile.

He gave her a small smirk, "Yeah, Faye. Maybe in the way I'll miss you when you slip away a few weeks from now with all our food and half of our cash."

Faye opened her mouth to protest but he had slipped out the door before she had a chance to reply. She huffed as she heard him walking away. As if she needed his cash, anyway.

* * *

Spike shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stalked into the living room. Jet was sitting on the large yellow couch, feet propped on the coffee table in front of him. 

"You just couldn't let her be, could you?"

Spike shrugged, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jet."

"You know, if you'd just leave her alone – "

"Save it, old man. Just because she's here now doesn't mean I have to like it. I don't owe her anything."

Jet raised a hand to his chin, running his long fingers through his black beard, "No. But it might bring a little peace to the other people on this ship."

Spike stared at the empty vid screen. The fan overhead buzzed lightly and one of the ship's lights seemed to flicker in time to the sound.

"So…" Spike ventured hesitantly, "what do we know about this guy?"

"Who? Bosch?"

"Bingo."

Jet shifted a little in his seat. He reached behind his head to scratch his neck. "He's hiding out. On Venus."

Spike could sense where this was going. He groaned, "Oh, come on, Jet. Anywhere but Venus."

Jet ignored him, "I'm sending you two off tomorrow. You'll be undercover."

"For how long?" It was a stupid question, he realized. Nevertheless, he didn't want to stay with Faye a second longer than he absolutely had to.

"Indefinitely. Until the job's done. Or he leaves. You and Faye will be staying at the Hôtel Pergolèse."

"And you'll be … ?"

"Without Ed around there's no one to gather intelligence. I'll be staying here. Keeping you two posted."

"Great," Spike sighed.

"Look, Spike," he said, "We can make quick work of it if you'll just work with her. After that you can send her off to Luke again and she'll be out of your hair for good."

"Yeah." Spike clenched his teeth. Somehow, he thought, it wouldn't be quite that easy.

* * *

Spike sighed, his thoughts drifting as he tore his eyes from the muted vid screen. Jet had long since retired to his bedroom, and Spike assumed that Faye had done the same. The dim yellow light that leaked from under her door had disappeared about an hour ago. He hadn't seen her the rest of the day. Not that he was complaining. He imagined the less he saw of her the better. 

The room was dark save for the blue and white light of the vid screen. It flickered silently across the cool steel walls of the ship and onto his skin, making him suddenly feel cold.

He took a breath, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Withdrawing a cigarette from the pack, he placed it between his lips and flicked his Zippo with his thumb. The orange flame danced wildly in the dark room, and as he slowly inhaled he heard quiet footfalls behind him.

He flipped the top back on the lighter and turned to face Faye.

"Hey," she said quietly.

Spike exhaled slowly, letting the cigarette dangle on his lips. Smoked curled in front of his face. "Hey," he muttered.

"You're still up."

"Yeah." He took another long drag on his cigarette. The air was so silent that he could hear the tobacco crackle as he inhaled.

Faye walked to the opposite side of the couch and sat down cautiously. Spike turned his head, studying her intensely. She folded her hands in her lap and sat up straight against the back of the couch, her feet flat on the floor. A piece of violet hair fell into her eyes and she quickly brushed it behind her ear.

"Cigarette?" he asked.

Faye hesitated for a moment, "No. I don't smoke."

Spike shrugged, "First time for everything, I guess."

She didn't say anything – just took a deep breath in, then exhaled. Spike watched as her chest slowly rose and fell. She looked nervous and out of place. Almost vulnerable.

"We're going to Venus tomorrow," he said, directing his eyes back to the vid screen.

"I know. Jet told me."

Spike ran a hand through his hair, arching his back as he stretched, "I know you don't want to be here," he said casually, settling back against the couch.

"And I know you don't want me here."

He turned toward her again. She smiled faintly before turning away.

"It should be a quick enough job, anyway," she said, playing absently with the fabric of her black pencil skirt.

"Yeah. I wouldn't want to keep you from Luke or anything, seeing as how you two are happily married now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Spike huffed, "Come on, Faye. Marriage? How do you plan to pull that one off? You had a hard enough time staying here. Even Ein was more loyal than you." Spike took a final drag off his cigarette, then leaned forward to crush the butt against the plastic ashtray on the coffee table. "You're kidding yourself if you think people don't realize it's a sham marriage."

Despite the darkness he could see her eyes flash angrily, "Does it really just kill you to think that I might have actually moved on with my life? That I'm not – blindly chasing a past I can't even remember? I mean, did it occur to you that I might actually be _happy_ with Luke?"

Spike smirked, "It did. But then I saw that cheesy, lifeless grin you wore all night and I knew you were just in it to suck the poor sap dry."

"I love him, Spike," she said forcefully.

"You think if you say it like it will actually make it true? You're using him, Faye. Just like you used everyone else."

"Like the way you used Julia?"

He clenched his teeth and balled his fists. He didn't think Faye would actually have the nerve to say her name. "I _never_ used Julia. I lov – "

"Oh, bullshit Spike. You used her as an excuse. An excuse to live in the past. An excuse to – to throw your life away. To leave." She was so worked up her hands were shaking. She'd told herself from the moment she arrived on the Bebop that she wouldn't bring this up. Faye took a breath, steadying herself, "Oh yeah, Spike. You loved her all right."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Faye laughed incredulously, "Oh, really? Why is that? Do you think that you were able to hide it well? That no one knew that you were pining away for a ghost of a woman? That you'd be willing to give your life for her at the drop of a hat? She didn't even exist Spike – whoever you loved, it wasn't Julia. It was never Julia. It was just some – some idea you had of her."

"Shut up, Faye."

"So you're allowed to criticize my relationships, but I can't say anything about yours? That hardly seems fair." Faye stood and walked toward him, arms crossed over her chest defiantly as she stood before him.

Spike couldn't help but let his eyes travel over her body. Her small hips were positioned squarely in front of his face, and her arms were crossed so tightly over her chest that he could make out a hint of cleavage peeking out from her blouse. He felt a muscle in his jaw jump and he swallowed hard. He wasn't sure if it was the mere sight of her that caused him to tense or the way every word that slipped past her lips infuriated him.

"I said shut up, Faye."

She gave him a sadistic smirk, "You really want me to believe that _that's_ real love, Spike? Chasing ghosts? Pretty girls? If she's dead now it's your fault. You never knew when to give up. When to let go. Maybe Julia would have been better off without you."

Spike rose to his feet and gripped Faye's arms tightly. He pulled her close against his body, shaking her slightly. She gasped a little and he saw a hint of fear flicker in her eyes. The sight of her -- chest heaving wildly against his, the look of shock written on her pretty face, and the excitement in her deep green eyes -- was almost enough to make him smirk. Instead, with their faces mere millimeters apart, he stared intensely into her eyes.

"Don't you say her name. Ever." His grip tightened on her arms. His voice was low and husky – almost a whisper. Her lips were slightly parted and he could feel her warm breath fluttering against the side of his neck. It made the hair on his arms stand up and he couldn't help but pull her closer until her lips nearly grazed his. Her eyes were half closed – from shock or sleep, he wasn't sure. If it had been any other woman – any other situation – he wouldn't have been able to keep himself from kissing her. "Do you understand me?" he demanded lowly.

Faye closed her eyes for a moment, regaining her composure. When their eyes met again she glared at him, "Let me go, Spike."

Spike took a deep breath, feeling his chest press against hers one last time before releasing her. "Get out."

"Gladly."

Faye turned and slowly walked back down the hall to her room. Spike watched as she turned the corner, disappearing from sight. Swearing under his breath, he sank back into the couch with his head in his hands.

* * *

A/N: All righty! I think this is the longest chapter so far. Go me. I hope that the characters are filling out a little bit better. I had meant to address 'The Julia Issue' in this chapter from the beginning, but I'm not sure how well it all turned out. The fight felt a bit more natural as I wrote…I hope it doesn't seem contrived in any way. I really hope everyone is still enjoying the story. I'm not really all that great at writing, and I tend to move quickly through dialogue without a lot of exposition. So if you feel that description or plot is a little thin, please feel free to say so! I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews. They are very helpful. 

Well, till next time, then!

-Nevi


	6. Sleep Tonight

**Chapter Six: Sleep Tonight**

* * *

_You always watch the sun go down  
The same old shadows crawl over town  
Those thoughts of you it shivers me  
The moon grows cold in memory_  
--Rolling Stones

* * *

Once inside her room, Faye leaned against the door, her palms pressed flat against the cool metal. Finally, she allowed her self to take a deep breath in, then another. Her chest heaved wildly and she closed her eyes.

"Fuck," she whispered, "Oh…fuck…"

Luke had warned her not to get too involved. She hadn't even been on the ship a day before picking a fight with him.

The hairs on the back of her neck were still raised. When she closed her eyes she could still feel his large, strong hands closed around her arms, his slender fingers grasping at her soft skin. She could feel his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his broad chest. And she could still feel his hot breath fluttering over her lips. The thought of his long, hard body pressed tightly against hers was enough to make her cheeks burn.

"Oh, _fuck_," she whispered again, more harshly. She raised a hand to her forehead and began massaging her temple. She had gotten over this years ago…hadn't she? His infatuation with Julia, his abandoning her and Jet…his death.

Faye straightened, smoothing her hands over her skirt. Yes, she had gotten over it. She'd gotten over it when she saw the body. She'd gotten over it when she met Luke. When he made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

She walked toward her dresser and examined the heavy glock that rested on top. She ran her fingers absently over the metal barrel. Luke offered her a new life. A chance to _really_ put her past behind her. She closed her fingers tightly around the handle of the gun and lifted it off the dresser, feeling its weight in her hand.

Yet still there was something about him that intrigued her. She had nearly forgotten the rush she felt when she really got under his skin. How she liked the way his whole body stiffened when he was angry at her, and the way that muscle in his jaw jumped when he made eye contact with her.

Faye shook her head, banishing the thought from her mind. No, she _could_ do this. She wouldn't let herself get worked up again. It was just a job. And Spike was, after all, just a man. Just another man who happened to abandon her. Who happened to betray her trust – much like all the other men she knew. Just another Whitney.

* * *

Spike groaned deeply, his eyes fluttering open slowly as they adjusted to the bright florescent lighting of the ship. A dull pain traveled down his neck and along his spine, and he decided that spending the night on the couch was not the best idea he'd had in a while.

Jet was humming a jaunty tune in the kitchen as he cooked … something – Spike couldn't tell what. Groaning again, he slowly sat up on the couch.

He yawned wide, running a hand through his mussed hair, "Jet," he called gruffly, "what're you making?"

"Nothing for you."

Jesus Christ. He knew that voice – and it most certainly wasn't Jet's. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping that he was still dreaming. When he opened them he saw Faye standing between the kitchen and the living room, skillet in hand.

"She cooks," he said dryly.

Faye gave him a slight smirk, then disappeared behind the wall of the kitchen. "Just one of my many talents."

Spike grunted in response, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. Judging from her carefree tone, Faye was willing to simply ignore their disagreement from the previous night. She began to hum again, the same slow song he remembered her singing when she –

"Quit it," he snapped.

"Well, well … someone got up on the wrong side of the couch today."

The sound of clattering dishes emanated from the kitchen. The silverware drawer rattled as it was opened, then closed. He imagined Faye pushing it closed with a nudge of her hips – a plate in one hand, a glass in the other.

Faye emerged from the kitchen again, bowl in hand, and joined him on the couch. Spike sighed, turning away. She might have been more than willing to simply disregard their argument from the night before, but he had no intention of allowing her to forget so easily. Not after her flippant remarks and self-righteous smiles. He could tell by the way she looked at him last night that she still derived endless pleasure from taunting him. Had there been a knife in his gut, he could imagine the delighted gleam that would flash in her eyes as she contemplated twisting it.

He inhaled deeply and, suddenly, what he could only describe as the smell of wet dog assaulted his nostrils.

"The hell is that?" he nearly shouted, his gaze fixed once again on Faye as she leaned over the green bowl in her lap, studying its contents intensely before taking a small bite.

"Poached eggs over sautéed spinach," she replied easily, taking another bite.

"No wonder you've disappeared," he said, pinching her upper thigh.

"Ow!" she shrieked, slapping his hand away, "Spike, you bastard!"

"Calm down. I barely touched you."

Faye glowered at him as she rubbed her reddening skin. She was wearing a pair of men's flannel boxers – Luke's, no dobut – and an oversized boat neck sweater. The boxers had hiked up a bit on her thigh when she jumped. Faye didn't seem to notice and continued to massage her skin.

"So…" Spike said, dragging his gaze away from her exposed thigh, "Venus."

"Yeah," she replied, taking another bite of her breakfast, "Venus."

"We're staying at the Hôtel Pergolèse, you know."

Faye perked when he mentioned the name, "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

Faye sat her bowl down on the coffee table and turned intently toward Spike. "_The_ Hôtel Pergolèse? The most exclusive hotel and resort on Venus?"

"No, Faye, the crack house down the street which, conveniently, is also called the Hôtel Pergolèse. Jesus."

Faye ignored his sarcasm and continued, "Why on earth would Jet send us there? And how did he ever find the money?"

"Well," he drawled, reaching in front of him for a manila folder on the coffee table, "Mr. Logan Black and Miss Giselle Fine will need the appropriate accommodations for their stay on Venus – " he tossed Faye a counterfeit passport and a new woolong card, "and, of course, when the manager of the hotel learned that the CEO and president of M&A Financial would be staying in his hotel, he was more than willing to provide us with a comfortable stay."

Faye raised a brow, "M&A Financial? I've never even heard of that company."

He smirked, "It's a sham, Faye."

She sighed, laying the passport at her side, "Don't you think these measures are a bit extreme for a nice hotel room?"

"The room's just an added bonus. We're going under cover. Bosch is interested in investing in our company."

"I see. So you're going to bleed the poor man for all he's worth before hauling him off to the ISSP?"

"Bingo. He's got a lot of dirty money and no way to clean it. M&A will provide a false front."

"Dirty money, huh? What's the guy do? Is he some sort of drug lord?"

"Some sort. He's the leader of the largest bloody eye cartel in the solar system."

Faye raised a brow, "A syndicate leader, then?"

Spike closed the manila folder in his lap and ran his fingertips along its edge, "That's the thing – the other members of the cartel don't seem to be associated with one another in any clear way. He deals with businessmen, various syndicate leaders, crooked cops – I mean, the cartel's expanse is massive."

Faye nodded slowly, shifting in her seat. She crossed her legs underneath her body, "All right, Spike. So ... we're supposed to – what? Take out the solar system's most powerful and elusive drug lord just like _that_?" she snapped her fingers for emphasis.

Spike shrugged, "Basically – yeah. I mean, if we can both get the guy alone – "

"That's _crazy_!" she nearly shouted, "No, Spike, its worse than crazy; it's suicidal. You really think you can pull a fast one on this guy? There must be some reason why the ISSP hasn't hauled him away yet."

"He's a tough guy to track. And while he's been under suspicion for quite some time, the cops have had a tough time pinning the charges to him. He knows how to cover his tracks."

Faye paused for a moment, brushing a loose strand of violet hair behind her ear. "So let me get this straight…" she began cautiously, "Jack Bosch has made a lot of money controlling the production and distribution of bloody eye. Naturally, he needs to disguise the origins of the money so that it can't be tracked back to the drug cartel."

"Right."

"So then we're going to _launder_ the money for him and_ then _turn him over to the ISSP?"

"…Right."

"And we'll be turning the money in too, right?"

Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat, running a hand through his hair, "Well, not exactly. I mean, by that time the money will be clean. He's already ran it through numerous interstellar accounts, shell companies, you name it. This is just the last step. After he uh ... invests … in M&A, there won't be a paper trail to speak of."

"Uh huh…" Faye said, licking her lips, "So after turning him in to the ISSP we just – "

"Take the money and run. All of it. We'd be set for – centuries."

Faye smirked, "Well, well, Spiegel. I must say, I'm impressed. I never imagined you and Jet would get wrapped up in white collar crime."

He shrugged, "What can I say? Bosch's a tough guy to bag. At least this way we'll be able to keep in close contact with him. Maybe gain his trust."

She nodded slowly, then stood, lifting her bowl off the table, "Sounds like we have our work cut out for us, Mr. Black," she said as she walked toward the kitchen.

He heard dishes clatter as she set the empty bowl in the sink. When she appeared in the doorway again, one hand braced on the door frame and the other on her hip, he couldn't help but smile. The large sweater drooped off her left shoulder. The boxers rode low on her hips and he could just barely see the sliver of pale skin between her sweater and her shorts. He licked his lips, imagining the face she'd make if he dragged his rough fingertips over the bare skin. He remembered the way she looked last night when he grabbed her – lips softly parted, a hint of fear flickering in her pretty eyes – yet still her features seemed to remain so calm and graceful. "Yeah," he said slowly, returning from his reverie, "See you in the hangar, Miss Fine."

* * *

A/N: So…this chapter is a little short. Sorry about that. I decided I'd post a little something since I'm not sure how frequently I'll be able to update the story. I'm pretty busy with school and life at the moment, so I rarely have much time to myself. I will try to update about every three weeks…hopefully no longer than a month will go by between updates. Believe me, I want to see it finished as much as you do! I can't wait to write the more interesting (read: sexy) chapters…


	7. Make Up

**Chapter Seven: Make Up**

* * *

_If I could understand this better  
I might be a little closer to you  
Brushing my face with her hair  
As she pushes past towards the door  
That's a little ticklish but please just don't stop  
She's probably heard this a million times before  
The sweep of her brush is like a gentle lick  
It seems to make her like everything you want_

-Snow Patrol

* * *

_Jack Bosch_. Faye turned the name over in her head. _Jack Bosch_. When Spike had shown her Bosch's picture at the wedding she hadn't recognized him – but now, after listening to him detail the ins and outs of their current bounty, she remembered. Bosch and Luke were business partners – if you could call them that. Luke rarely discussed business matters with her, and, as a result, she was largely ignorant of the Dragons' business dealings; however, she knew Bosch was their premier supplier of bloody eye.

Faye took a breath, attempting to push the thoughts from her mind. As she sat on the low bed in her room, she crossed and uncrossed her long legs uncomfortably. Her small comm. rested heavily in her hand, and her thin fingers were clasped tightly around it. Should she call Luke? He deserved to know, didn't he?

Faye bit her lower lip and squeezed the comm. tighter. How could this possibly be a dilemma for her? After all, she was sent there to kill him, not scam Jack Bosch out of millions – possibly billions – of woolongs. Not to mention the fact that Luke would have to find out eventually anyway.

She studied the comm. for a moment before lifting it to her mouth. "Luke Kennedy," she said. She heard the familiar ringing sound over the slight static. Once. Twice. After the third tone she saw Luke's face illuminating the small screen. He always waited for the third ring. It was one of his many eccentricities.

"Hey, Babe," he said with a wide smile. "I hadn't heard from you in a while. I was beginning to get worried."

Ordinarily, Faye would have no problem coming up with a snarky response. This time, however, she blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Spike's after Bosch," she said.

Luke sat back in his oversized office chair. The leather creaked slightly as he shifted his weight. "I'm aware," he said.

Faye was taken aback by his easy response. "You know?"

Luke chuckled, kicking his feet up on his desk, "Your partner isn't as slick as he thinks he is."

"How did you know?"

Luke reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a neatly folded piece of paper. He opened it slowly and then held it in front of the comm. It was the wanted poster Spike had shown her at the wedding.

Faye exhaled slowly and licked her lips. "I see."

"Come on now, Faye. You don't give me enough credit. You really think I'd let him whisk you away to some far off planet? That I'd let you go without having the slightest idea where you'd be or what you'd be doing?"

"I thought you trusted me."

"Oh, of course I do, darling. But what kind of business man would I be if I were to let something like this happen?"

Faye remained silent. She'd been stupid to think that he wouldn't find out. He was the leader of the largest crime syndicate on Mars, for god's sake.

"The Dragons can't afford to lose Bosch."

"I figured."

"He's a major player in the trafficking of bloody eye. Not to mention the fact that he's responsible for keeping many of the high level syndicates here … under cover."

Faye waited for him to continue, but he remained silent. Not that that surprised her. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. Bosch knows. Spiegel's not going to be able to pull a fast one on him. Just keep doing your job."

Faye raised a brow at his last remark.

"Make sure he doesn't suspect a thing. I'm counting on you, babe."

"Why can't I just – finish him now?"

"What can I say? I'm enjoying the show. Plus – I think he might be falling for you."

"What?" she asked quickly. She felt her pulse race. What could he have meant by that?

Luke just smiled as he lifted his feet off the desk and planted them firmly on the floor. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "My eyes are open."

Faye swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat and closed her eyes. "Right."

Luke smiled again. "I'll talk to you soon, love."

"Back at you."

The transmission ended and once again the glossy screen of her comm. was black.

_My eyes are open_. The thought sent chills down her spine. He had to be bluffing just to get under her skin. As cool and collected as he appeared, Faye knew that underneath it all, when it came to matters of love, there was no man as jealous and insecure as Luke Kennedy.

She dropped the comm. into her purse and rose off the bed slowly. She knew Spike must have been grinding his teeth and cursing her name – she was supposed to be in the hangar fifteen minutes ago.

The sound of her heels on the cool floor seemed to echo loudly off the steel walls of the ship. It was so strange and unfamiliar…sharper than the sound her boots had made. To her, it was just another reminder that she had become a stranger there. So much the worse for Faye Valentine.

* * *

As she had suspected, by the time she reached the Swordfish Spike had worked up a temper fierce enough to make even Jet look mellow.

"I said we were leaving at twelve sharp," he said through gritted teeth.

Faye smirked. His bad moods always had a way of eliminating with hers. "I was preoccupied."

"With?"

She raised her chin and placed a hand on her hip. "Now, Spike…you know a lady never tells."

"Low cut blouses and high heels don't necessarily make a lady."

Faye smirked, "A painful fact that you're no doubt aware of."

Spike's chest rose and his jaw shifted. Faye imagined he was literally biting his tongue. "Just get in the Red Tail so we can leave."

"Gladly," she said. She turned on her heel and walked toward the Red Tail, adding a bit of a swing in her hips as she did so.

* * *

The three hour flight to Venus had been, for the most part, uneventful. Spike stood beside the Red Tail in the large parking lot, tapping his foot impatiently as Faye took her time unloading her luggage.

"You know we're only going to be here for a few weeks, right? Not – months?"

Faye struggled unsuccessfully to unload a large suitcase from the cargo hold of the ship. "A few _weeks_? I only brought enough stuff for a one, max!"

Faye's luggage rested in a pile on the blacktop near Spike's feet. So far, she had unloaded two bags full of cosmetics and various toiletries, one full of shoes, and three more filled with clothes. She was attempting to wrestle what he hoped was her last – and largest – suitcase from the small ship.

"Did you leave_anything_ on the Bebop?"

"Shut your mouth and get over here and help me!"

He walked to where she was standing and nudged her aside with his arm. His hand closed around the handle on the suitcase and, in one swift motion, he lifted it from the ship's hold.

Faye glared at him, "Thanks."

"What? You asked for help."

"You didn't have to make it look so easy."

"With these arms, honey, I make everything look easy."

Faye rolled her eyes, "You wish."

She was still standing close to his side. Despite the small nudge he gave her, she hadn't bothered to move out of the way. The feeling of her arm just barely grazing his stomach made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was never one to miss an opportunity to make Faye's blood boil so, very slowly, he leaned down until his lips found the outside of her ear. "So do you."

She jumped then and whipped around to face him. Her full lips narrowed into a thin line.

"I had to get you back for that hateful remark in the hangar. For your information, I make a fine woman."

Faye's voice remained flat, "Oh, really?"

"I bet I'd fill out those yellow hot pants better than you did."

Her lips parted as she drew a breath. She leaned close to him, and he couldn't help but notice the front of her top dipping dangerously low. One corner of her mouth curled upward as she raised a brow, "You. Wish."

With that she turned and sauntered toward the front of the hotel, her purse clutched firmly in her right hand.

He stood dumbfounded for a moment. He certainly walked right into that one. "Oh yeah? So do you!"

It wasn't until she had disappeared around the corner of the building that Spike realized she had left him with her suitcases. All seven of them.

"Goddamn it," he muttered, gathering the bags in his arms. He could only imagine what the next few weeks with Faye would be like. He had neglected to tell her that they would be sharing a room together – which, undoubtedly, was sure to cause a fair bit of turmoil in the ensuing weeks. Despite the fact that they lived together on the Bebop, they never saw much of each other while they were together. At the very least, the next few days would prove to be interesting. Maybe they'd manage not to kill each other. Maybe they'd get along. Maybe he could resist the temptation to lean against her every chance he could just to make her skin crawl – and maybe, just maybe, he could muster enough strength to not watch her every move when left a room.

**A/N: Hides Please don't kill me! I know it's been a long time … things have been crazy! Thank you to everyone who kept reviewing despite my long hiatus. I was happy to see that I wasn't forgotten. I am reeeaaaaallly going to try to keep updates regular. I promise! Part of the problem is that this fic is getting way more complicated than I imagined. Admittedly, I had three scenes in my head when I wrote it and a vague plot outlined – so its pretty much taken on a life of itself by now. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I thought this chapter was a bit better than recent ones, but that may just be the fact that I am writing this at midnight. Go figure.**

**Till next time!**

**-Nevi**


	8. Let's Spend the Night Together

**Chapter Eight: Let's Spend the Night Together**

* * *

_Don't you worry 'bout what's on your mind __  
__I'm in no hurry I can take my time__  
__I'm going red and my tongue's getting tied__  
__I'm off my head and my mouth's getting dry.__  
__I'm high, But I try__  
__Let's spend the night together__  
__Now I need you more than ever__  
__Let's spend the night together now_

--The Rolling Stones

* * *

Faye rapped her well-manicured nails against the marble counter of the front desk at the Hôtel Pergolèse. She had to admit, the hotel was rather impressive. A large chandelier hung overhead, and the slight breeze that whipped through the lobby whenever the front doors were opened caused the crystals to sway and clink together, filling the room with surreal, twinkling music. The soft yellow lights and gold leafing adorning the chandelier radiated like warm evening sunlight, and Faye idly watched as a myriad of tiny rainbows flitted over the pale skin on her hand. 

High-gloss granite tiles lined the floor of the hotel. Their pale color was exaggerated by the rich blue and gold hues of the many identical Persian carpets located in the lobby.

Amid the twinkling of the chandelier crystals and the staccato rhythm of heels against granite Faye could make out the sound of falling water. She craned her neck, looking toward the center of the hotel lobby – which seemed, not surprisingly, several hundred feet from where she stood. An elegant, lighted fountain stood right in the center of the immense room, lined by tall Grecian looking columns and low slung couches. Azure water cascaded slowly over the gently sloping tiers of the fountain, and a multitude of water lilies floated on the water's surface.

Faye smirked, focusing her gaze on the large glass doors of the hotel once again. This place would certainly put the Red Dragon's headquarters to shame. Despite Luke's extravagant lifestyle, she couldn't remember the last time she was in a place quite this impressive.

She realized, suddenly, that she gave Spike far less credit than he deserved. Whatever he had done to orchestrate this must have been impressive.

As if on cue, Spike lumbered through the doors of the hotel, oversized luggage in tow. One of her cosmetics bags – the smaller one – dangled from his tightly clenched teeth. She laughed at that, not even attempting to hide her amusement. He noticed, of course. At least she assumed he did. The look he gave her at that moment was one he often reserved for the times she made him completely and utterly pissed. Needless to say, it was a look she knew well.

Five bellhops immediately rushed to his side, gathering the luggage in their arms. Spike kept his eyes fixed on Faye as he strode toward the front desk.

"Name?" the clerk asked.

"Black," Spike said quickly. Judging by his brusque tone, he wasn't going to be forgiving her for abandoning her luggage anytime soon.

"Logan and Giselle?"

Giselle Black? That didn't sound right. Fine. Her last name was Fine.

"Actually," Faye interrupted, "its Logan Black and Giselle _Fine_."

The clerk turned his attention to Spike and gave him a look Faye didn't quite understand. Spike just laughed easily, letting his arm snake around Faye's waist.

So much for being angry. Maybe he was just losing his mind? She considered the possibility and decided it wouldn't surprise her all that much.

Spike's smooth voice interrupted her reverie. "Newlyweds," he explained, pulling her closer. "She's having trouble adjusting. You wouldn't believe how hard it was for me to convince her to change her last name. Right, hun?"

Faye bit her lip and smiled through her irritation. "Right." _Note to self, kill Spike Spiegel_.

"Oh, yes," the clerk gave a tight-lipped smile, "I understand, sir." He directed his eyes to the computer screen behind the desk. "Room 415." He dropped two key cards on the slick counter, then pushed them in Spike's direction.

"Thanks," Spike said. He tightened his grip on Faye's waist as they walked away, pulling her into his side. She caught the smell of his cologne as they turned. It was faint and mellow and tinged with the slightest hint of cigarette smoke. She had never actually been close enough to him to notice the scent before, but she thought it felt familiar – it was so inexplicably Spike Spiegel.

A strand of her violet hair shifted, falling in front of her face. It was soft and smooth, and for a brief instant she caught the slightest hint of her perfume mingling with the warm scent of Spike's cologne. For a moment, she felt calm – as if, somehow, this feeling was something she had been missing all her life … something she hadn't known she'd been searching for and couldn't quite put her finger on. She felt his strong fingers smooth over the wrinkles of her thin shirt as he gently squeezed the curve of her waist.

As quickly as it had come, the feeling vanished. She'd been treading on dangerous ground. Hell, if she really let herself go, she might have begun to think they were lovers. Faye pushed the thought from her mind and collected herself. Wasn't she in the middle of being irritated with him?

"You know, so long as we're spinning an elaborate web of lies here, it would be helpful if you would keep me updated on them," Faye hissed.

"Would you have come if I did?"

Faye thought for a moment as they paused in front of the polished golden doors of the elevator. "Would I have had a choice?"  
"No – but it would have made the entire affair much more uncomfortable if I had told you."

"Spike," she said evenly, attempting to keep her voice quiet lest the other guests overhear her, "As far as being uncomfortable goes, I don't think its going to get much worse than sharing a hotel room with you."

"We can only hope."

The elevator in front of them chimed and the doors slid smoothly open. Faye took a breath as they stepped inside. The interior of the elevator matched the mirror-like gold doors, and the soft light above seemed to streak across the heavy doors as they closed.

As soon as they were alone, Faye knocked his arm away. His nearness was really beginning to irritate her. "If you don't keep your hands off me, I swear to God – "

"What's wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked.

Faye couldn't tell if the lilt in his voice was meant to be intimidating or playful. Not that she gave a damn. She crossed her arms, pressing them hard over her chest. "No."

"Good. It might be hard to keep up appearances if that were the case."

Faye huffed at that, but didn't say anything. Elaborate con aside, she couldn't help but think that her fake honeymoon with Spike was turning out to be more romantic than her actual honeymoon with Luke. Not that they even had a proper honeymoon to speak of – his idea of a romantic getaway was a quickie in the pool house. And, of course, as far as affection went, there was no contest. The most she ever got from Luke was a quick wink and a "Love ya, babe" – except on those rare occasions they appeared together in public. And, even then, his fawning over her was more a way of marking his territory than representing any kind of genuine feeling he had for her.

The sound of the doors sliding open jarred her back to reality. Suddenly, the thought of Spike being more affectionate and loving than her own husband only fueled her growing annoyance with him. As he moved to walk forward into the hall, Faye stopped him, thrusting her arm in front of his stomach.

Colliding with her arm nearly knocked the wind out of him – she could tell by the "oompf" sound that escaped his lips. That thought, at least, brought a smile to her face.

"_Ladies_ first, Spike," she said, stepping into the hallway. She swore she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back as she left.

* * *

If the lobby was impressive, the hotel room could only be described as nothing less than astonishing. Bright sunlight flooded the living room, spilling through the massive floor-to-ceiling French windows and past the heavy silk drapes which were loosely bound aside. The high ceilings were painted pastel blue and streaked with fluffy, white clouds. For a moment, Faye was sure she was looking through a skylight rather than the ceiling.

A large, overflowing fruit basket was placed on a dark mahogany table in the middle of the living room near a few chairs and a low fainting couch. Faye stepped out of her black pumps and let her feet sink into the luxurious carpet. She kicked her shoes toward the pile of luggage which the bellhops had expertly snuck into their room before they arrived. Faye made her way over to the fruit basket and picked up a full, green apple.

"Well?" Spike asked.

"Well what?"

"You're not impressed?"

Faye snorted, "Hardly."

"Ah, yes," Spike said, gently closing the door behind him, "How could I forget that Faye Kennedy has become accustomed to the finer things in life?"

She thought for a moment, taking a bite from her apple. It was cool and crisp and she liked the sound it made as her teeth broke the skin. After swallowing the first bite she replied, "Don't beat yourself up over it, Spike. You never have been particularly sharp."

"Did you have to think about that one, Valentine?"

"Momentarily."

Spike crossed the large living room and pulled back the heavy blue curtain that led into the master bedroom. Faye strode behind him, taking another bite of the large apple. When she reached his side, she felt as though she should have been putting her arm around his waist. She raised her hand for a moment and nearly brushed the back of his jacket before she stopped herself. What was she doing? This was _Spike_, for God's sake.

It was the atmosphere, she told herself. The gleaming light, the voluptuous silk that brushed against her arm as she stopped at his side, and the delicate scent of fresh fruit that permeated the air – she felt as though she had wandered into someone else's photograph … some bright place that belonged on the front of a postcard rather than in reality. It reminded her of a picture she might have sent to her family while she was on her honeymoon. If she'd had a honeymoon. Or a family.

The air was thinner on Venus, too. And of course there were those strange, floating plants. It must have been something in the air.

"I guess you'll be sleeping on the couch," Spike said. He walked to the king-sized canopy bed near the wall and plopped down on the side. Faye heard a whooshing sound as air escaped from the heavy down comforter beneath him. She watched as he scooted up the bed, finally collapsing against the pillow.

"Yeah, think again, Cowboy."

"Well, you're not sleeping in here."

"Like hell I'm not."

Spike closed his eyes and placed his hands behind his head, "Over my dead body."

"Do you really want me to take you up on that? Because I have a Glock 30 in my suitcase, and I've been dying to use it."

"Doesn't matter to me. You're the one that's going to have to sleep in the bloody spot."

Faye took one last bite of her apple before tossing it in the small trashcan near the door frame. She pulled the curtain closed behind her – exactly why, she wasn't sure – and made her way over to the bed. Once there, she placed her hands firmly on the soft mattress and proceeded to crawl to the top. When she reached the pillow she turned to lie down on her back, making sure to assume his position as she did so.

She felt the bed shift and, instinctively, she leaned toward Spike, letting her gaze settle on his face. He turned his head – which was still pressed against the crisp satin pillow – and opened an eye to look at her. "I don't find this routine cute," he said.

Faye smirked, turning on her side to rest on her elbow. "Cute? What would make you think I'm trying to act cute?"

"You're_ not_ sleeping in this bed."

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

She grinned devilishly and lowered her voice, "How are you going to stop me?"

"I suppose I can't." He was silent for a moment, then turned away. "You're welcome to sleep here if you like."

Faye raised a brow. Spike was never one to give up this easily. "You're actually going to take the couch.? On what condition?"

"I said you could sleep here. I didn't say I'd take the couch."

Faye huffed, "You're not serious."

"As a heart attack."

"You'd let me sleep here? With you?"

"Sure. I mean, you're right. It's not as though I could keep you out." Another pause. Faye kept her eyes fixed on his face as he stared idly at the ceiling. She felt the bed shift again and assumed he moved his legs. "Besides," he began, "I'm not the one who's married."

She narrowed her eyes as she realized what he was doing. Honestly, did he think he could scare her off with subtle threats? Not that the attempt surprised her – it was all part of the delicate subterfuge that defined their relationship. If he wanted to play dirty, she would too. After all, it wasn't as though she could just let him _win_.

"All right, Spiegel. As long as you're sure you don't mind." She decided to employ a dramatic pause of her own. Two could play at this game, after all.

Spike had turned his head toward her again. He lifted a brow and she swore she saw the corner of his mouth curling upward into that smug, self assured smirk. Time to strike.

Faye made sure to lock her gaze with his as she prepared to speak. "You won't mind if I wear my chemise and panties to bed, will you? I always feel a bit uncomfortable sleeping with a bunch of fabric clinging to my body."

She delivered the line as coolly as she could – though, saying 'panties' with a straight face while staring into Spike's deep-set eyes had been a challenge. She swore she saw his eyes widen at her casual remark, though she couldn't be sure. God forbid his features ever betray the slightest hint of emotion.

"Fine with me."

His response seemed uncharacteristically clipped. She chalked up a point in her mind. _Faye 1, Spike 0_.

Spike licked his lips, letting his eyes wander around the room for a moment. Faye couldn't tell if she'd made him uncomfortable or if it was his subtle way of suggesting she get the hell out of the room and leave him be for a change.

He took a breath and she watched for a moment as his broad chest rose and fell. He still wore that atrocious suit, of course, and she noticed that the yellow shirt looked as though it hadn't been pressed in months. She imagined the shirt, along with his other clothes, simply ended up in a heap on his bedroom floor. Not that she normally entertained thoughts of his clothes piled on the floor of his room. Or thoughts about the way he must look in the morning, his body still heavy with sleep, as he slid his well muscled arms into the sleeves of that shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. And, of course, she certainly didn't entertain thoughts of Spike, half-naked, moving in that lazy and languid way he always seemed to employ in executing every little action. Not that she thought of that – ever. Except now. Damn it.

"So..." he drawled. His low voice distracted her, and the rough sound of it sent a shiver down her spine – it seemed to drag along the sensitive skin of her neck like the tip of a calloused finger.

"So," she replied softly.

"We've got a whole night to kill before work tomorrow."

We? What we? He couldn't be asking her if she was up for a night on the town. She would have laughed if she hadn't been so shocked.

"Uh huh…"

"How 'bout a drink?"

"You're asking _me_ if I want a drink?" Faye asked incredulously. Had she misheard him? Even when they lived together on the Bebop, Spike always seemed to do everything in his power to get away from her. And now, after they'd checked into the hotel and he had every opportunity to slip off to some shady bar, he wanted to spend even more time with her? Maybe the Venus air was getting to him, too.

"Well, I know you're never one to refuse a cheap drink. But I thought I'd ask out of sheer politeness."

Faye cracked a smile. At least some things hadn't changed. "Mmm, yes. A cheap drink is to Faye Valentine as a cheap date is to Spike Spiegel."

"Ah, insult by analogy. Glad to see that you're finally using derision at a fifth-grade level."

"And I'm glad to see that you're finally using fifth-grade words like 'derision.'"

Spike gave her an uncharacteristic smirk, "Get your shoes," he said simply as he rose off the bed.

Faye waited for a moment, then sighed contentedly. "…Another man, crippled by the witty repartee of the stunning Faye Valentine."

**A/N: Okay, so the title's not all that subtle. But I had a hell of a time finding a song, and this one is as close as it got. It also made me laugh. Besides that, I spent hours poring over this chapter, trying to get it just right. Now, frankly, I am tired of looking at it, and I think this is as good as it gets. Again, I'd LOVE to hear what you think...I welcome both praise and criticism! Right now, I am concerned with getting the characters down. I am soooo bad with characters. Sigh…but we all have our strong and weak points, right?**

**And, for those of you who might be anxiously awaiting teh hawtt secks, I am not sure how far off that is yet. It **_**is**_** planned but, due to other details centering on that scene, it must be strategically placed. However, I can promise other wonderful things in the coming chapters! Feelings will soon be revealed! Tension will rise! And Faye's baby daddy will finally be revealed! … Oh wait … that is from my other hit fic, "As the Bebop Turns." Well anyway, I can promise the first two things!**

**Hugs and Kisses,**

**Nevi**


	9. Wonderful Tonight

**Chapter Nine:**

**Wonderful Tonight**

* * *

_It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear.  
She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair.  
And then she asks me, "Do I look all right?"  
And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight."_

_We go to a party and everyone turns to see  
This beautiful lady that's walking around with me.  
And then she asks me, "Do you feel all right?"  
And I say, "Yes, I feel wonderful tonight."_

-- Eric Clapton

* * *

Spike buried his hands deep in his coat pockets as he stepped out of the large hotel elevator with Faye at his side. She looked good – damn good. Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and thick curls spilled over her shoulders. A strapless, black satin dress clung to her small figure, revealing her soft curves.

She had a white fur stole twined loosely in her arms, and he noticed that with each sway of her hips the fur lightly grazed the small of her back.

He let his eyes travel the length of her body once more before he spoke. "I can't believe you're going out drinking dressed like that."

Faye turned to look at him, "You said we were going to a cocktail lounge."

"Yeah, a cocktail lounge, not a museum gala."

"Well, excuse me. You know, most men would die to be accompanied to a bar by a woman _dressed like this_," she said.

"What men, Faye? The ones who pay top dollar for a high class hooker?"

Faye paused for a moment. "Well, it worked for Richard Gere."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Spike sighed, letting his gaze wander around the hotel lobby as they walked. He saw women in pearls with practiced, careful smiles and slender fingers and men in perfectly tailored suits. He was amazed at how effortlessly Faye was able to fit in with these people.

He realized, suddenly, that he was no longer like her. She was collected and cool and repressed. She looked like she was born to wear diamonds and give burning sidelong glances. She was Luke's prized trophy – a stunning monument to class and beauty. And he was – well, he was still Spike.

But so what if she looked stunning and put together? Underneath it all she was still the same obnoxious, self-centered, broken woman. She'd just managed to glue the pieces together and fill in the holes.

They stepped out of the large glass doors of the hotel and into the cool night air. Spike pulled a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket and placed it between his lips.

"So, where is this place? These heels really kill my feet."

Spike glanced at her shoes and noticed she was wearing another pair of black heels. These shoes, however, had an open toe and a larger heel than the pumps she normally wore.

"Christ, Faye, how tall are those heels?"

"Six inches. Just the right size, don't you think?" She moved her foot to the side slightly so that he could see the entire length of her heel.

"Six inches? That's excessive, even for a high class hooker."

The corner of Faye's mouth turned upward slightly. "Spoken like someone who's a bit insecure when it comes to his …" She dragged her eyes slowly over the length of his body, pausing for a moment to stare at his midsection. Spike felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed hard. When her eyes found his again she smirked, "six inches."

"Sex jokes, Faye? Isn't that beneath you?"

Faye raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He realized he had set himself up for another one.

"So…where's this cocktail lounge?" she asked, her smile widening. Apparently she wasn't going to harass him any further.

Spike nodded his head to the left. "About a block that way."

"Lead on, Cowboy."

* * *

The heavy scent of cigar smoke and cheap perfume permeated the air of the lounge. The room was filled with women in skirts that were much too short and men with slick smiles.

He hadn't noticed that Faye had taken his arm until he felt the weight of her small hand resting on the crook of his elbow. He looked down at her hand and then diverted his gaze to her face. Perhaps she wasn't aware of it either.

Spike couldn't help but notice how all eyes in the room seemed to fall on Faye's svelte form. Faye didn't seem to be paying attention and left Spike's side, making a beeline for the bar. Spike watched intently as she walked away and noticed the extra swing in her hips due to her too high heals. He soon followed in her footsteps and claimed a seat next to her atop a high bar stool.

"Classy place, huh?" he asked.

"If you mean classy in the tawdry, gin-soaked, nouveau riche sense of the term then -- certainly."

"Well, you should be right at home then."

Faye squared her shoulders and raised her chin slightly. "I am _not_, nouveau riche."

"Gin-soaked, then?"

Faye chewed at her bottom lip and slowly let out a long breath.

"I suppose that only leaves taw—"

Faye shot him a glare. "I'm not some air-headed, slutty trophy wife – I'm a sophisticated, well-to-do lady of leisure."

"Right. Just so we're clear, you do realize you can't be old money by mere virtue of the fact that you're _old_, right?"

Before Faye could respond the bartender appeared before the couple.

"What can I get you folks?"

Faye leaned forward onto the slick bar top. "What's good?" she asked.

"The house special's Tokyo Tea. It's a sweet cocktail made with Midori."

"Sounds good," she said, leaning back and crossing her long legs.

"And for you, sir?"

"I'll have a gin. Straight up." He looked to Faye and gave her a wink along with his characteristic half-smirk.

The sound of ice clattering against glass emanated from behind the bar. The bartender slammed two glasses on top of the counter – a tall Collins glass filled with ice and an empty old-fashioned glass – and began to fill them with liquor.

The bartender pushed Spike's glass of gin toward him and then went back to work on Faye's cocktail.

"You know, Faye," he said, taking a deep swig of alcohol, "you've never been one to turn down a good whiskey."

Faye shifted in her seat and readjusted her white stole. "I don't really drink all that often anymore."

"Oh, yes. I suppose straight whiskey doesn't exactly behoove a – what did you say? A 'sophisticated, well-to-do lady of leisure?"

"Shut up, Spike," she muttered.

Spike took the hint and concentrated once more on his whiskey. She seemed tired. Maybe she just needed a night out. With the tight leash Luke kept her on he imagined she didn't get out much.

"Here you are, Miss. One Tokyo Tea." The bartender handed her a tall glass filled with a bright green liquid.

"Thank you."

Spike raised an eyebrow, "You sure it's safe to drink that? You might get radiation poisoning."

"I'll take my chances," she said, raising the glass to her lips.

"Good?"

She shrugged, "You can't really taste the alcohol."

"Judging by the amount of sugar syrup pooling at the bottom of your glass I'd say you're right."

She smirked at him and took another drink, letting her lips linger on the edge of the glass a moment longer this time.

Spike cleared his throat, "So..."

"So."

"How've you been?"

Faye blinked her eyes, though her facial expression didn't change. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she continued to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that at one point in the past we worked together. I left the Bebop shortly after and I haven't seen you for a year and a half. Since that time, how have things been going?"

"A year and a half," she said idly, taking another drink. "Really?" He noted the sarcastic lilt in her voice and decided to ignore it.

"Really."

"I suppose things have been going so well for me that I hadn't really noticed."

"Uh huh." He said shortly.

"Yep."

He hadn't anticipated that his first night with Faye alone – really alone – might turn out to be an awkward one. Spike took another drink and set the glass back down on the bar. He traced the lip of the glass with a rough fingertip.

The frosted glasses and tall bottles of liquor cast long, dark shadows in the low lighting of the cocktail lounge. Numerous large fluorescent bulbs overhead hummed silently. Spike noticed that a slight orange hue tinged the glass and cast the lounge in a warm, golden glow. It reminded him of candlelight. If he hadn't been there with Faye, of all people, the atmosphere would have seemed quite romantic.

"Where'd you go after I left?"

Faye looked toward him again, setting her glass down on the bar top. He noticed it was three-quarters of the way empty. "I got around."

"Evidently," he said, nodding to the large diamond ring on her finger.

Faye covered the jewel with her other hand and re-crossed her legs, "I left about a week after you disappeared. I found a job with – I found a job working for Luke, and … well, you can guess what happened next."

He expected to find a small smile on her lips after she finished her sentence. After all, stories like that were often finished with broad smiles and the flash of an oversized diamond.

"Oh really? Doing what?" he asked.

"Trafficking drugs and orchestrating hits – Christ, Spike, what's with the third degree?"

Spike held his hands up, as if in surrender, "Hey, I was just curious, that's all."

Faye polished off her drink and exhaled slowly, "Right."

He opened his mouth to respond but Faye interrupted him. She leaned forward, reaching across the bar for the bartender's arm. When her fingers closed around his wrist he stopped and turned in her direction.

"Bartender," she said lowly, "I'll have another."

Her voice was smooth and easy – something he'd never heard before. The sound was rich and warm and tinged with the slightest hint of sweet liquor. He wanted to hear it again.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a slick smile. Spike rolled his eyes.

He immediately began working on Faye's drink and Spike heard the familiar sound of liquor gurgling through speed pourers.

He cleared his throat, "I'm not in the mood to fight with you tonight, Faye."

"Good. I'm not in the mood to fight with you, either." Her voice still had a slight edge when she spoke to him. Spike ignored it.

"…You know, things have been different since you left," he said.

She reached for the drink the bartender left for her and took a cautious sip. Then her gaze settled on his face. For a moment she didn't speak – simply sat straight on the bar stool, letting her eyes search his face. Then, her full lips parted, "No, Spike," she said, "they've been different since _you_ left."

They sat in silence for a moment then, each paying undue attention to the condensation beading on their glasses and the low music in the lounge. Spike reached into his coat, withdrawing a cigarette from the open pack in his pocket. He flicked his Zippo open as he brought the cigarette to his lips.

"I didn't leave," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air, "I was on … hiatus."

"Can we not talk about this? I want to be able to relax before our first night on the job." She paused for a moment before giving him a hesitant, yet reassuring smile.

"Right," he said, the cigarette bobbing lightly between his lips, "Whatever you say."

"Can I have one of those?" she asked, motioning to the cigarette.

Spike raised a brow, "I thought you quit."

She shrugged, "You gotta let loose every once in a while, right?"

Spike withdrew another cigarette from the pack and handed it to her. She smiled again as she took the cigarette from his hand, and he noticed that the crisp white paper nearly matched the pallor of her skin. She brought the cigarette to her lips slowly and let it hang there for a while.

"My God, even the smell is addictive," she said, laughing a little.

Spike just nodded, watching intently as the cigarette moved between her lips. He could already make out the dark red ring where her lipstick had stained the paper.

He cleared his throat again, "Hey, you need a ligh—"

Before he could finish Faye was leaning toward him, the cigarette poised gently between her lips. He let his eyes wander to her exposed chest. The front of her dress had slipped slightly, he noticed, and the delicate diamond pendent she wore around her neck dipped tantalizingly into her cleavage. When Spike brought his gaze level with hers again he found her inches from his face, her heavy lids drooped over glassy eyes, plump lips pouting slightly. He caught the scent of her hair as she leaned closer, nearly letting it brush against his check. Then, ever so gently, she closed the space between then and pressed the exposed end of her cigarette against the smoldering cherry of his.

Despite feeling suddenly lightheaded, Spike inhaled quickly. The burning end of the cigarette glowed fiercely as he did, and he swore he could taste her as he inhaled. Faye quickly did the same, bracing her hand against his shoulder for support. After the second puff she pulled away, opening her eyes.

Spike was still leaning forward slightly. He couldn't move – just lifted his eyes slowly to look at her.

Faye raised her head, blowing the cigarette smoke into the air. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Thanks for the light."

_Jesus. Christ. _Spike straightened, "Don't mention it."

"Do you always look this dumbstruck when you're with a stunningly beautiful woman?" She asked.

"No. …What?"

Faye just laughed, taking another swig from her drink. "This is pretty good," she said.

Spike noticed she was finishing off her second Tokyo Tea fairly quickly. His own glass of gin was still half full. "I imagine."

She giggled again and covered her mouth with her right hand. "You know, this sort of reminds me of those long nights back on the Bebop. You and me and a bottle of whiskey."

Was Faye getting…tipsy? Maybe she really hadn't been drinking in a while.

"But you know, if I'd known about – what's in this drink? – Milori? Mid—Midori! ….Anyway, if I'd known about Midori back then, I would've never drunk that cheap whiskey Jet kept under the sink."

"Uh huh…" he said cautiously. He wasn't quite sure what to do. Should he coerce her back to the hotel? Or see where the night took them? He certainly couldn't just sit back and watch as Faye got trashed – though it would be interesting, to say the least.

Faye tipped her head far back, letting the remaining green liquid trickle to her lips. His eyes traveled along the curve of her neck and he swallowed hard.

"You know, Faye, maybe you should—"

She slammed the glass down on the bar, "Have another?" she asked.

"No, I—"

"Bartender!" she called out.

Spike sighed. This could be a long night.

* * *

Faye laughed, taking another sip of her exotic cocktail. "I still can't taste the liquor!"

Spike raised a brow and reached for the drink in Faye's hand.

"Hey!" she protested, smacking his wrist as he pulled the glass from her grip.

Spike took a long swig of the cocktail, then sputtered gracelessly as he lowered the glass. "Christ, Faye, this should have an octane rating!"

She looked at him quizzically, "Really? It's so…sugary."

"Excuse me," Spike said, flagging down the bartender.

"Yes?"

"What exactly is in this drink?" he asked, motioning to the glass. It was now three-quarters of the way empty.

The bartender shrugged, "Gin, triple sec, tequila, rum, vodka, sweet and sour, and Midori. It's basically a long island sans cola."

Spike nodded, "Thanks. I think we're done here."

"What?" Faye asked, "But I'm not finished with my drink!"

Spike stood and took her arm in his, "It's all right, I imagine three Long Islands are enough for one night."

"I'm _fine_, Spike!" Despite her protests, she rose when he took her arm, wavering a little as she attempted to support herself in her high heels. Spike pulled her closer against his body to steady her.

"You're drunk, Faye."

"You have no proof."

"Judging by the three empty glasses and the sway in your stride, I'd reckon I've got about eighty proof."

Faye looked into his eyes, glaring a little, "You…you – you think you're so … witty."

"Let's get you back to the hotel."

"Fine," she groaned, taking a few steps toward the door. She wobbled on her heels and nearly fell over before Spike caught up to her. He let his arm snake around her small waist and he pulled her close against his body. Faye followed suit – her small hand (which was presently pressed against his back) began to sneak slowly toward his side. The movement of her hand was slow and unexpected, and he soon felt her small fingers twine around a belt loop in his pants.

"Really, I can walk on my own – " she said, but didn't attempt to move away from him.

"I know, Faye. Let's get back to the hotel."

"Yoooou bet," she said, drawing the words out needlessly.

As they made their way toward the door, Spike could still feel Faye swaying a bit in his arms.

"How could you not taste the alcohol in those?" he asked, opening the large wooden door of the bar.

Faye gave a little moan from the back of her throat, "Was good…"

"I see," he said, his fingers closing tighter around her waist as they stepped outside. Faye gave a loud yawn and he felt her head resting on his shoulder.

"I'm tired, Spike."

"I know," he said, "we're going back to the hotel."

"Um…duh, Spike. I remember. I'm not drunk, you know." This statement elicited more giggles from her.

Of all the times he'd seen Faye drunk – and they were many – he'd never actually seen her _giddy_ and drunk. He remembered seeing her skulk around on the Bebop in large boat neck sweaters and short boxers, hair unkempt with a bottle of Jack Daniels clutched firmly in one hand. But the woman clinging to his arm – the one with soft skin and dark red lips, the one who smelled faintly of expensive perfume and cigarettes, the one with the low, breathy voice – that woman wasn't the Faye that he remembered. Not that he could really complain all that much. At least with Faye in this condition, he was relatively sure that the night wouldn't end with a heated argument. And, at the rate things were going, the whole situation could afford a great deal of hilarity. At least on his part, anyway.

Faye lifted her head from his shoulder and tightened her grip on his pants, "Ya know, Spike, I haven't been this drunk since the night you left."

"What?"

"Since you left. To fight Vicious."

Spike ran his free hand through his unkempt hair, then tucked it back into his coat pocket. "Yeah."

"It's okay, Spike. I wasn't mad."

He wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't sure where she was going with this and, frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

"I mean, I guess you could say I was devastated, but not _mad_, you know…" She trailed off for a moment. "You know what I mean?"

"No, not really."

"I think I knew you weren't coming back. Was different than all those other times you went off to die."

He stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about, Faye."

She was overcome with laughter again at that comment, and she again rested her cheek against his shoulder. He gave her a sidelong glance and noticed that her eyes were closed.

"You know what I'm talking about. But this time was different, you know? This time you had a reason to die. Jet an' I both knew it."

Spike exhaled and merely grunted in response. Faye took it as a reason to continue.

"I knew that no matter what happened, you wouldn't come back. If you'd had Julia you would have run off to – anywhere. But without her you were – you were—" she paused for a moment, searching for the right words, "Well, it wasn't as if you were living for Jet and me, that's for sure." She started to laugh again, "If you'd eve call it _that_."

"Anyways, I knew you weren't coming back. So I – you know, settled in with a half-pack of Marlboros," she paused to look up at him, as if she were about to tell him something important, "the ones you left in your dresser – 'cause that's where you always hid them…" her voice was low, as if she were apologizing for her indiscretion – as though it mattered. Her delicate features soon became very serious, and he realized it would have been adorable had she not been completely trashed, "and also – the leftover bottle of whiskey you had. The strong stuff you got after you bagged … who was it? That con-artist – you wouldn't share any because I spent the day at the track."

They had finally managed to make it back to their hotel. Faye was still clinging to him as they walked through the large sliding glass doors into the lobby. She continued to talk despite the fact that plenty of people were now within earshot.

"That night I must have chain smoked thirteen cigarettes and finished off the whiskey in about an hour and a half."

"Keep your voice down, Faye," he said as they passed the fountain. Faye ignored him.

"An' that's why I don't smoke or drink anymore. Was too sad – it reminds me of you—" she sighed and nuzzled his shoulder, "Reminds me of the way you smell. The way you taste – not that I'd know." She began giggling again.

Crossing the lobby seemed to take an eternity. Between Faye's drunken rambling and their awkward gait, he couldn't seem to get to the elevator fast enough. When they finally stood before the polished golden doors he began to mash the call button impatiently.

"I'm sorry," she said, lifting her head from his shoulder to look into his eyes. She pursed her lips together and took a deep breath, "I'll be serious now."

"It's all right, Faye."

"Is just, you know, I really missed you, Spike. Even if you are a huge jackass most times."

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Spike hurriedly ushered her inside.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm making you uncomfortable," she slurred the words slightly despite her attempt to take a serious tone.

"My leaving had nothing to do with you," he blurted. Not that he owed her an explanation. Or should even be having this conversation with her.

"I know. That's why I was – you know, why I left. It's okay, no big deal."

Spike clenched his teeth and stared straight ahead, "Sorry." The word felt foreign on his lips and he immediately regretted saying it. As far as he was concerned, his leaving wasn't any of her damn business. It wasn't as though they had been lovers. Hell, they were barely friends.

"Oh, no, no…it's okay, Spike. I know you're not really sorry – I mean, if the same thing happened now, I know you'd take off again. But it's okay, really. I don't hate you anymore. Takes too much – effort."

Thankfully, their room was only a few doors down the hall from the elevator. Spike fumbled with the key card for a while before finally succeeding in slipping it into the lock.

"You okay, Spike? You're not _drunk_, are you?" She said the word like it was the single worst transgression she could imagine – as though the very thought of it ought to bring him shame.

"I'm fine," he said, stepping into the room and closing the door quickly behind him.

Faye wriggled out of his grasp, stumbling slightly as she made her way to the bedroom. She bent over awkwardly in an attempt to take off one heel at a time as she walked.

"I hope you don't mind if I get dressed for bed," she called, "I'm tired."

"Go ahead," he replied, loosening his tie as he walked toward the couch. He sank into it slowly, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and leaning his head back against the soft cushions. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to clear his mind – it reeled with Faye's drunken monologue, and he feared that the feel of her small hands and the smell of her expensive perfume would be etched in his memory forever.

The sound of Faye fumbling with her luggage filled the hotel room, and soon after he heard the rustling of clothes and the quiet hiss of the zipper of her dress. He suddenly realized he wasn't sure what had possessed him to book a single room in the first place.

He heard Faye's gentle footfalls on the plush carpet as she padded toward the couch. By the time he opened his eyes he was staring straight ahead at her navel. He could see it clearly through her black chiffon nightgown.

When Faye said she would be wearing a chemise to bed, he imagined she meant a cotton tank top or – something. Certainly not lingerie. The top she wore was (thankfully or unthankfully) only sheer from the bust down. It was tight with thin spaghetti straps and it ended at her upper thigh. Given her usual wardrobe, if she had worn it on the Bebop, he might have mistaken it for a mini dress. Except for the fact that he could see her skin right through it. And her small, black panties.

He swallowed and attempted to drag his eyes away from her body.

"You're coming, right?" she asked.

"What?"

"To bed."

Spike hesitated for a moment. After a few seconds the best he could muster was, "Uhh—"

"We agreed to share it tonight, didn't we?"

"It might be better if I slept on the couch."

Faye sighed, "I knew you'd say that."

Spike just nodded and continued to stare into her face. He didn't dare move his eyes southward again.

Faye shifted her weight from one foot to the other before placing a hand on her hip. She took a breath and said, "I never thought I'd see you again."

Spike just shrugged.

"I couldn't stay because – I started to miss you. And when you came back I … I didn't want to see you – for that to happen all over again." She stared at him for a moment before speaking. Her speech wasn't as slurred as before and he began to wonder if she was sobering up. "I still can't forgive you."

He continued to stare at her, unable to form a coherent thought.

Then her features softened and she took a breath, "But it's okay. We can still be friends." She said it as though she were trying to reassure him. As though they'd been on a bad date and she was trying to let him down easy.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding. He had no idea why she was telling him this – if it was even true, or if she was simply in a drunken stupor. As strange as their relationship was, he couldn't imagine Faye actually being _upset_ thinking he wouldn't return. Unless maybe he owed her money. Or had stolen her ship.

A few moments passed and she was still standing before him, drumming her fingers against her hip bone as if she were deep in thought – or expecting something.

"Faye—" he started. For a moment he wasn't sure the sound that left his throat was his voice.

"Mmm?"

As long as she appeared to be so unguarded, and, as long as she seemed to be so suggestible, he couldn't help but ask her one question. Something he'd been wondering since the night she was married. The thought made his mouth go dry and he suddenly felt a little nauseous.

"Faye…" he said again, closing his eyes as if he didn't know where to begin. She didn't say anything, and he continued, "how did you know it wasn't me?"

"What?"

"The body. They asked you to ID the body. You said you knew it wasn't me."

A mischievous smile tugged at her lips, "Yeah?"

He swallowed, aware that she was at least sober enough to enjoy his discomfort. "How did you know – it wasn't me?" he asked again.

She took a step toward him and he had to lean back against the couch lest his face be pressed against her stomach. Again he looked into her eyes and saw that her smile had grown. The left strap of her nightgown fell from her shoulder and she began to lean toward him. He shifted in his seat again, making sure that his back was pressed as far against the sofa as he could manage.

Faye reached for the collar of his shirt, and her body dipped dangerously as she began to lose her balance. She placed a kneed on the couch beside him to gain leverage, and he suddenly felt the warmth of her skin against his pant leg.

She delicately lifted his tie from the collar of his shirt and she smoothed it against his shoulder as she did so. After that, she moved her small hands toward the buttons on his shirt. She hooked one finger gingerly under the top button and pulled gently on the other side of his shirt with her free hand. Her fingers were surprisingly skilled considering the fact that she was drunk off her ass.

The first button popped free and she swayed again, this time threatening to topple over onto him. He reached for her hips instinctively, and as he did so she landed squarely in his lap.

She laughed, and after wiggling a bit to get comfortable, she resumed her work on his shirt as though nothing had happened. She finally stopped after freeing the second button and brought her eyes to his.

Spike was suddenly aware of his heart hammering in his chest and the blood rushing to his head. He was breathing harder than he realized and he occasionally felt his chest graze hers. Faye was sitting on his lap. Straddling him. Half-naked. She was so close he could feel her breath against his bare chest.

Faye just smiled and said his name – the way he remembered her saying it at the bar. Heavy and smooth and slow, like velvet.

"Spike."

He closed his eyes and swallowed, attempting to think about anything besides the woman in his lap.

She said his name again and he opened his eyes. She shifted and he tightened his grasp on her hips to keep her from moving. It was bad enough that she was straddling him – the last thing he needed was her slowly gyrating her hips.

Faye moved her arms from his shoulders, letting her fingers graze along the bare skin of his chest. And then, in one slow and smooth movement, she pulled the shirt away from the right side of his neck.

"You wanna know how I was sure it wasn't you?"

"Yeah," his voice was rough and dry and sounded like sandpaper.

Faye's eyes left his and she moved her hand to the side of his neck. She dragged a fingernail against the sensitive skin and then stopped suddenly just above his collar bone.

"You have a small mole – right here," she said. He felt her fingertip graze the flesh before she pulled her hand away.

She continued to examine his neck for a few moments, and he could almost swear she was on the verge of running her tongue over the skin and along his clavicle to the dip in his throat. He shuddered at the thought.

"And?" he asked.

"And that's how I knew. It couldn't have been you."

She brought her eyes to his again, "You did a damn fine job, though. Almost had me."

For a moment, he couldn't say anything – he simply stared back at her, unable to move. His hands were still gripping her hips tightly, and, as he realized this, he let them drop to his sides. He clenched his teeth and attempted to slow his breathing despite the fact that his heart was hammering against his chest and the blood rushing to his brain – and other extremities – was making him lightheaded.

Faye blinked and took a breath, "I'm sorry, Spike. I'm making you uncomfortable…" she said. She shifted her weight in an attempt to stand up, but she again lost her balance and fell into his lap. She laughed – a low and sleepy laugh that gave him chills – before going limp against his body.

"I'm so tired," she said.

Spike placed his hands on her waist in an attempt to steady her and she stood without wavering. As soon as Spike was on his feet she was leaning into him again, her cheek pressed against his now exposed chest.

"Take me to bed, Spike," she mumbled.

He ignored the sexual innuendo and led her to the bedroom. Faye lifted her head and yawned as they entered the room, then left his side to close the heavy blue curtains in the doorway.

Spike stood at the foot of the bed, his hands jammed into his pockets awkwardly. He watched as she smoothed the curtains with her hands before turning toward him again to make her way to the bed. She pulled the covers back and, after plopping gracelessly onto the mattress, attempted to wiggle between the covers.

Finally, after laying her head against the pillow, she began to breathe deeply. He was about to slip out of the room when she spoke.

"Was fun tonight, Spike."

He cleared his throat, "Yeah."

"Don't leave," she said lowly.

"What?"

"Don't leave," she muttered, "I don't like falling asleep alone."

He sighed deeply and made his way toward the other side of the bed. He sat down slowly and laced his fingers together, placing them between his head and the wall as he kicked his long legs out before him. He closed his eyes and exhaled, wondering if he'd ever get to sleep. He wondered if he'd ever get the image of Faye – smelling faintly of alcohol and cigarettes and clad in that skimpy lingerie – out of his mind. Wondered if he could ever get the feeling of her out of his skin – her small hands working to free the buttons on his shirt, her fingers trailing over the hot flesh of his chest and neck. And he wondered if his hands could ever forget the curves of her hips or the feel of chiffon – or, if, after he closed his eyes, he could ever forget the look on her face after she told him, 'It couldn't have been you.'

* * *

**A/N: There you have it. The chapter you thought would never end. I had no idea it would end up being this long, but I must say, I am pretty happy with the result. As always, I have to give a big thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed. I'm not sure I'd make it without the constant feedback.**

**And a special thank you to ****Alexithimia**** for including my humble little story to "They That Will Never Be…". You make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside!**

**As for the next chapter, I haven't even begun planning it out in my head yet. So I suppose that means that anything goes. Nothing like leaping before you look.**

**And, of course, don't forget to leave me some sweet, sweet, review-y sugar. You will be rewarded with gold, jewels, and more chapters. Or maybe just more chapters.**

'**Till next time,**

**Nevi**


	10. Wonderwall

**Chapter Ten:**

**Wonderwall**

* * *

_Today was gonna be the day  
But they'll never bring it back to you  
By now you should've somehow  
Realized what you've gotta do  
I don't believe that anybody  
Feels the way I do  
About you now_

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding  
And all the lights that lead the way are blinding  
There are many things that I would like to say to you  
But I don't know how_

--Ryan Adams

* * *

To say that Faye awoke with a pounding headache would be a bit of an understatement. She groaned loudly as her eyes fluttered open only to be met with the harsh sunlight that streamed in through the large bedroom window. She raised a heavy hand to her temple and, gathering all the strength she could muster, sat up on the bed.

She remained completely still for a few moments, waiting for the room to stop spinning and for the last dregs of fuzzy sleep to fade from her mind. When she opened her eyes again she realized she was wearing her black chiffon camisole and matching panties.

"The hell…" she muttered to herself, running a hand over the fabric of her nightgown as if in disbelief. Had she really chosen _that_ to wear to bed? She remembered teasing Spike about it the day before, but she hadn't actually planned on following through with it. Oh God. Spike.

She was afraid to turn her head. Although she couldn't remember most of what happened the night before, the weight she felt next to her in the bed could only mean one thing. She drew in a deep breath and closed her fists as she mustered the courage to look.

There, lazily slumped against the wall on the far side of the bed, lay Spike, his long legs stretched characteristically before him. His hands were interlocked and pinned against the wall, his head resting gently against his palms.

Faye exhaled a sigh of relief. His eyes were closed. At least he was asleep.

As if on cue, Spike opened his left eye, keeping the right closed tight. "What up," he said.

_What up?_ They just spent the night together and the best thing he could come up with in the morning was – what up?

Faye growled in response and pushed herself off the bed. She winced again and sucked a deep breath of air through her teeth. Her head throbbed painfully and for a moment she felt the floor beneath her tilt.

"Well, good morning to you, too," he said as he stood and made his way into the living room.

Faye walked to the large, open suitcase on the chair by the bed. She rummaged through the pile of clothes for a moment before finding a lightweight robe that matched her negligee. She tied the sash lightly around her waist and followed Spike into the next room.

The smell of strong coffee and donuts greeted Faye as she left the bedroom. Spike stood by one of the large windows and poured the black liquid into a large mug. He gave her a disinterested look and sat the pot down as she entered the room.

"Bastard…" she muttered under her breath. He must have come back to bed and waited for her to wake up so he could humiliate her. Typical.

She stopped in front of him and reached for one of the coffee mugs on the end table, looking up briefly to study his face for a moment. Without saying anything, she raised the pot of coffee and filled the mug to the top.

"I know what you're thinking, Faye, and you don't have to worry," Spike said, taking a sip from his drink. "I was great last night."

"Huh," she said, turning her back as she walked toward the couch, "so that explains the little prick I felt in my sleep."

"Ouch."

Faye sat down, curling her legs underneath her. She closed her eyes for a moment and relished the feeling of the warm mug in her hands. At least the strong scent of the coffee was slowly bringing her back to reality.

"I hope you're planning on putting something else on. We're meeting Bosch at eleven."

"You sure about that? We might get the job done quicker this way," she said, moving her arm away from her body and turning her free hand palm up as if to demonstrate.

"As tempting as that sounds, I don't think it'd be appropriate for a sting operation. It's a little more complicated than getting some poor sucker to part with his money in a sleazy motel room."

"Now, Spike, don't sell this place short. It _is_ the Hôtel Pergolèse."

Spike rolled his eyes and she smirked at him.

"I don't care. Wear whatever you want, Miss Fine."

"Sure thing, Mr. Black."

* * *

Faye shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood before the towering building. She smoothed her hands over her knee length skirt and then tugged at the bottom of her tailored jacket. She turned and noticed Spike eying her quizzically.

"Stop squirming like that. You look nervous."

"Do I?" she asked.

"Yes."

As though she didn't have a reason to be nervous. It would be one thing if they were just trying to pull off a simple con. That she could handle – and, as far as Spike knew, that's what they were there for. Of course he didn't know that she'd sold him out. That she'd set him up. Faye suddenly felt as though she was going to be sick. And this time she was relatively sure it wasn't from the Midori. Oh, God…Midori. She groaned.

Spike nudged her with his elbow, "Quit it," he said, taking her arm roughly as he began to walk toward the building, "you're going to blow our cover."

"Not likely," she muttered.

Once inside the building Spike led her to the large reception desk to their left. They were greeted by a slender, serious woman with tight thin lips.

"May I help you?" she asked evenly.

Spike shot her a devastating smile. "Logan Black and Giselle Fine. We're here to see Mr. Bosch."

The receptionist smiled back at him and Faye swore the woman's cheeks had turned a deeper shade of pink. Faye felt her nose twitch.

"Certainly, sir. I'll let Mr. Bosch know you're here. His office is on the top floor, first door to your right."

Spike winked at the woman before turning away.

Faye jerked her arm from his grip so hard it hurt. "Keep your hands off me, Spike," she hissed.

They began walking toward the large elevator at the back of the lobby. Faye had to practically jog in her heels to keep up match his quick pace.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Faye," he said, staring straight ahead, "But you need to snap out of it, now." His voice was low and even.

Faye clenched her fists so tight that her well-manicured nails pressed painfully against the skin of her palm. She quickened her pace and reached the elevator before him and pressed the button for the top floor firmly.

She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding and let her hands relax for a moment. She crossed and uncrossed her arms over her chest and began to chew on her bottom lip. Spike was either not paying attention to her or had simply neglected to say anything. Faye wasn't sure – she just continued to stare straight ahead at the polished chrome in front of her.

The call sound of the elevator resonated thought out the empty lobby as it reached the bottom floor. Faye drew another deep breath into her lungs and then willed herself to expel it slowly. Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad. After all, it wasn't as though Bosch was after _her_.

Then, amid the heavy sound of the elevator doors sliding slowly open and the sudden scent of unfamiliar cologne, Jack Bosch appeared, standing tall in a well-tailored black suit.

Faye tensed, and she suddenly hoped that Spike hadn't noticed.

The right corner of Bosch's mouth lifted slightly and he gave her a subtle wink. She felt her heart hit the floor and she diverted her gaze quickly.

"Mr. Bosch," Spike said, stepping into the elevator, "we weren't expecting you."

Faye followed reluctantly, making sure to stand as far away from the both of them as possible. She leaned her shoulder against the cold wall of the elevator and focused her eyes on the ground floor button.

Bosch gave a full throated laugh, "I get that a lot."

For a moment Faye considered bolting out of the elevator, running the three blocks to the hotel and jetting off in the red tail to some far away region of hyperspace. Instead she stood completely still as the elevator doors closed on the three of them.

Faye could hardly believe she had nearly forgotten who Bosch was – the mug shot on the wanted poster looked like a completely different man … five o'clock shadow, unkempt hair, and a stained t-shirt.

Now that she had seen him, it suddenly all came back to her. She remembered seeing him numerous times at Red Dragon headquarters with Luke, though at the time she hadn't known his name. If she didn't know better, she might have assumed he and Luke were brothers. Or at least close cousins.

Bosch had the same commanding presence and squared shoulders. His hair was slicked back and his dark eyes were set deep into his face. And then there was the suit. Impeccably crisp with sharp, perfectly tailored corners. She might have found it handsome had she not learned that the only men who wore suits like that meant trouble.

Bosch cleared his throat. "I contacted M & A because I have a matter of – some importance. A matter which must be handled delicately."

Spike waited for Bosch to continue. Faye concentrated on the hum of the elevator as it traveled to the top of the building.

"I'm hoping you can be of service to me."

"We'd be happy to help – right, Miss Fine?"

Faye looked up and Spike shot her a glare.

"Yes. Of course."

Bosch shoved his hands deep into his pockets, giving her a self-satisfied smirk, "Good."

* * *

Faye placed her feet firmly on the floor. She folded her hands tightly and placed them on top of the polished mahogany table. The board room was exceedingly cold and she felt the skin on her legs and arms prickle. Or maybe it was just her nerves.

Bosch sat at the head of the long table in a large, leather office chair. A thick manila folder lay before him, and he idly flipped through its contents with his right hand. The room was dead silent save for the small sound of thick papers falling together.

The scene reminded Faye of something out of a bad movie – an evil villain meeting with his evil henchmen in a sleek, evil board room.

Bosch stopped fiddling with the papers and smoothed the folder with his hands, "As you know, I've recently come into quite a bit of money."

Spike nodded, lazing back in his chair. Faye rolled her eyes. Yeah, real professional, Spike.

"I called you because I'd like to discuss my options."

Spike leaned forward and placed his hands on the table, "Well, you have many options, Mr. Bosch. At M & A we specialize in – investment management. We take a look at the money you have to invest and then we work on coming up with an investment strategy together. We can consider stock options, government bonds – you name it."

Bosch nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, "It's that easy?"

"That easy," Spike said.

Bosch brought a hand to his chin for a moment, as if he were in deep thought. "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Black. I've got a lot of money that I'd like to keep under the radar for – security reasons."

"Well, I can tell you that M & A is not a publicly traded company, which allows us to remain less visible than our publicly traded counterparts. This also means that many of the company's business and financial dealings are concealed due to the nature of reporting requirements for transparency. In a nutshell, we largely operate outside of public view."

"I see."

Spike took a breath, "We do have other options for our clients who require … increased security regarding their funds. We have them first wire money to the bank accounts of our private shareholders. After that, the money is circulated in the public sector through investments in – say, the stock market."

"I'm afraid I don't see the benefit in such a process."

"Well, it's simple, really. This process insures that there is no paper trail left behind which can trace the money back to you. You essentially drop off the radar."

"And when I need the money back – ?"

"It will be routed to a private account of your choosing. Easy as that."

Bosch smirked, "Sounds clever."

"I take it you're interested?"

"Very much so."

Spike nodded toward the manila folder, "Shall we take a look at what we have to work with?"

Bosch pushed the folder toward him silently. Spike flipped thorough the pages for a moment, his brow furrowing before he handed the folder to Faye.

"Tell me what you think, Miss Fine."

Faye felt the blood drain from her face as her fingers closed around the thick folder. Tell him what she thought? Did he want her to blow their supposed cover? Spike was always the one who did the majority of the talking when they were undercover. He could speak endlessly on any topic and never seem to lose his cool.

She exhaled, opening the folder to stare at the front page. It detailed information about account balances at various banks and institutions. She noticed numerous invoices and other documents detailing business transactions. She flipped through the pages idly, noting various charts and graphs she didn't understand. One thing was clear, however – Bosch had an obscene amount of money. Not that that should have surprised her.

"How much money are we talking about here, Mr. Bosch?"

"Roughly 900 million woolongs. Give or take a few. I was hoping you could review these documents and give me an exact number."

Faye swallowed. She had known that trafficking bloody eye was profitable – but she had no idea how profitable. No wonder Spike wanted to bleed the guy for all he was worth. With that kind of money they could buy a mansion on Ganymede and live out the rest of their days as retired bounty hunters.

"Of course," Spike said, taking the folder from Faye's hands. "If you like, Miss Fine and I can look over the figures tonight and get some idea of our options."

Bosch smiled, folding his hands together and placed them on top of the slick table, "Perfect."

* * *

Faye sighed and let her shoulders slump forward. As she stepped out of the building into the bright sunlight she donned a pair of large sunglasses. Actually being away from Spike for the first time in a while was … somewhat refreshing. He had stayed behind to speak with Bosch about something – investment opportunities? She wasn't sure. She'd excused herself as politely as she could and practically bolted for the door.

However, her newfound sense of serenity didn't last long.

"Hey, Dollface."

Faye turned to see Luke leaning smugly against the side of the building to her right. A cigarette dangled from his lips and he pulled a lighter from his coat pocket as he spoke to her. "Come over here, babe."

Faye suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and made her way toward him.

"Hello, Luke."

"Where's your partner? I was so looking forward to meeting him again."

Faye shrugged, "With Bosch, I guess. He wanted to talk about – investments. I don't know."

Luke laughed at that, a large plume of smoke billowing from his lungs. "Investments, huh? He must really think he's got a shot at pulling this thing off."

"That's sort of the point, isn't it? Get him to fall for the charade hook, line, and sinker? Or have you changed your mind and want me to finish him off right now?" Faye asked, more bitterly than she had intended.

"Funny you should mention that," he said, standing up straight. He lifted one side of his jacket and reached for something in one of the interior pockets.

Faye swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment – as if that very action could prevent what she knew was about to happen. When she opened them she felt Luke place Spike's battered Jericho in her hand. Her fingers closed around the handle and suddenly her entire body felt cold.

"I want you to use this."

Faye huffed but didn't shove the gun back into his hands.

"Poetic justice, don't you think? I want him to know who sent you."

She looked into his dark eyes and he cracked another smile. "Come on, babe. You know it will feel good."

"I just want it to be over with."

"Oh, really? I was under the impression you were enjoying yourself. Your exertions at the bar last night were no doubt -- entertaining."

Faye pursed her lips together tightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do." He took another long drag off his cigarette and exhaled easily. Faye tried her best not to flinch, but something gave her away.

"You shouldn't be alarmed, Faye. I told you…I have eyes everywhere."

"Apparently."

Luke rolled his shoulders back and dropped the smoldering cigarette butt onto the sidewalk below. He ground it into the concrete with his heel, and as he lifted his foot Faye concentrated on the ugly grey streak of ash that remained.

"Look, at this point, I don't really care what you have to do to get the job done, all right? And I've gotta tell you, I'm really liking the whole – buddy-buddy, unresolved sexual tension thing you've got going on. It's brilliant."

Faye shrugged and readjusted the sunglasses on her face, unsure of how to respond. It's not like it was every day that her husband commended her for flirting with another man.

"Just remember why you're here," he said, taking a step toward her. Faye lifted her eyes to meet his, and, as she did, she felt his arm snake around her waist. He brushed her cheek lightly with the back of one hand and splayed the other against the base of her neck, his fingers tangling in her thick violet hair.

Faye felt her lips part as she took a breath.

"And I'll give you a hint, darlin' … it ain't to fuck Spike Spiegel."

"That's too bad. I was so looking forward to it."

The corner of Luke's mouth turned slightly upward, and he leaned forward to steal a kiss.

* * *

**A/N: Well, there you have it. Chapter Ten. I can't say I am exceedingly proud of it, but what can you do? I am also publishing this chapter after reading some devastatingly awesome SxF fics, so naturally I feel humbled.**

**Anyhow, more excitement to come, though at this point anything could happen. I have a few chapters planned already, but working them in will probably prove to be a challenge. Lots of love to all you readers and reviewers – I know everyone says this, but you really keep me going! What can I say? It's true.**

**P.S. – Yes, I know that Oasis wrote Wonderwall. However, I think the Ryan Adams cover kicks the crap out of the Oasis version. Sorry. If you haven't heard it, you can check it out here (spaces not included, of course): **

**h t t p / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / watch ?v8wV2AII4t8U **

**Simply beautiful. You must listen!**

**Laters!**

**Nevi**


	11. Cigarette

**Chapter Eleven: **

**Cigarette**

* * *

_And through the smoke, I feel the scent  
Of something far beyond an incident  
A lecture for the trivial  
Artistic, not theatrical  
And she moves just like an erotic cabarét  
Leaving the lust for both happiness and dismay  
The softest lips, gold gracious fingertips  
As she moves, I watch her hips  
This is chaos, this is karma  
Coming down into a drama_

_This is what I feed on - I won't forget  
I light another cigarette_

--Beyond Dawn

* * *

_Fucking whore._

Spike took a long, fierce draw on the cigarette that dangled from his lips, sucking the smoke deep enough to burn his lungs. The paper smoldered so quickly that the tower of ash protruding from its tip collapsed onto the folder in his lap.

He growled and tossed the folder to the floor, sending a flurry of ash and paper scattering magnificently on top of the plush white carpet. Spike pushed himself from the chair and walked to the large window on the opposite side of the room. Bracing one hand against the wall, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth with the other.

A forceful sigh. Blue smoke pooled over warm breath beaded on smooth glass like some mystic fog twisting over a still lake – some abhorrent, slow spinning vortex.

Spike grunted at the thought, unsure of why it suddenly displeased him, and swiped at the mixture of smoke and condensation with his free hand after placing the cigarette roughly between his lips.

_Fucking. Whore_.

He had no idea why those words kept running through his mind. Why the very thought of Luke's hand sneaking over her thigh and under her skirt in a dingy back alley made the blood behind his eyes burn. Why the thought of his hand brushing over the thin fabric of the panties she had worn for _him_ the night before –

Stop. You're losing it, Spike-O. Get a grip.

He was her husband, wasn't he? Wasn't that his prerogative? To fuck her like a cheap whore in a dark Venus alley whenever the hell he felt like it? Not that he'd stuck around to see if he'd fucked her. Not that he'd wondered whether the soft moan that escaped from her mouth and caught his attention was from protest or –

Not that it was any of his fucking businesses, anyway.

He took another drag from his cigarette and heard the distinct series of beeps from the keycard lock as it opened. In walked Faye, her hair and lipstick slightly disheveled and the delicate strap of her black bra peeking out from her gaping blouse – apparently, she had decided not to refasten the top two buttons. Nice touch, Faye.

Her eyes found his for a brief moment and he suddenly realized that he couldn't breathe. His fingers tensed around the butt of the cigarette in his hand and before he knew it he found himself grinding the filter into a point. He swallowed hard before stopping.

"Yo."

He was answered by the silent click of the door as it fell closed. Faye simply continued to stare back at him, her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath she took. She looked as though she was surprised to find him standing in the middle of their hotel room.

When the heat from her gaze become unbearable he decided to simply fix his eyes on the curve of her collar bone. He watched the skin shift and stretch with every breath. She still hadn't said anything. Had barely moved, and her face didn't betray the slightest hint of emotion.

When he found her face again her lips fell open. She stood like that – silent – for a moment before turning and disappearing behind the curtain to the bedroom.

Spike turned as well, running a hand roughly through his hair. What the hell happened there? He felt his pulse slowly returning to normal and, deciding not to think on it any longer, made his way back to the chair by the window to continue reviewing Bosch's financial documents.

* * *

The black comm. resting at Spike's side began to ring shrilly. He cursed under his breath and fumbled for it amidst the piles of invoices scattered before him.

"Yeah."

"Hey, Spike." Jet Black's gruff voice filled the room.

"What've you got for me, old man?"

"What makes you think I've 'got' anything for you?"

"…You're not calling me from the bathtub 'just to chat' again, are you Jet?"

Jet glared and crossed his arms over his chest, "Very funny, Spike."

"I thought so. Like I said, what have you got?"

Jet cleared his throat and leaned back against the dark yellow couch, "So how much do you know about Jack Bosch?" he asked.

"Nice try, Jet, but isn't reconnaissance work your problem?"

"It ought to be yours too if you plan on staying alive."

"Not really my area of expertise."

"The planning part or the bit about staying alive?"

"Just get on with it."

Jet frowned and ran a hand over his head, "I take it you're aware of his dealings with interstellar crime syndicates."

"You're shitting me, Jet. Another good drug dealer gone bad? You know, I blame the schools – something oughtta be done to keep the dealers off the streets and in the classrooms."

"Okay, smartass. So I assume you_ also_ know he has close ties to a few Martian syndicates as well? Like, say, the Dragons?"

Spike stiffened but attempted to keep a straight face. He shrugged and withdrew a cigarette from his suit pocket, "So?"

Jet growled. He sat up and slammed his cybernetic fist against the coffee table. The sound that reverberated through the comm.'s speaker caused Spike to wince. "Don't you get it? If your cover is blown – "

"I'm dead, I know."

"No, I was going to say you'd be on the ass-end of an ass kicking. And you can guess whose foot would be doing the job!"

Spike smirked and tousled his hair with his free hand. "Are you coming on to me, Jet?"

"Look, Spike, if word of this gets out, we're all dead. You, me, the girl – hell, I imagine they'd be so pissed they'd go off looking for the kid and dog as well. There's a reason the ISSP is shelling out 100 mill for this guy, and there's a reason every goddamn cowboy in the galaxy isn't off looking for him!"

"You know, if you wanted to scare me, we should have had this conversation before setting up the con." The cigarette between Spike's lips remained unlit. He fished the lighter out of his pocket awkwardly.

"I don't want you to be scared. I want you to open your eyes and quit being so goddamn careless. This is our nest egg."

Spike stood and stretched his long legs. He took a deep drag from the cigarette and let the smoke curl lazily from between his lips. "Besides, I'm not the one you need to worry about – why aren't you keeping a close eye on Ol' Hotpants? She's the one who usually blows our cover."

"Because you're the one that blew up Red Dragon Headquarters nearly two years ago."

"Fair enough."

Jet settled back into the couch again and stared coldly back at Spike. "So where is she, anyhow? You haven't killed her yet, I hope?"

"Well, I had a go at it, but I just didn't get that same fuzzy feeling I used to back in the day."

"Shame."

"Yeah, a real goddamn shame. Speaking of which, she did manage to get drunk off her ass last night at a cocktail lounge downtown."

Jet groaned and slapped his hand over his eyes. "Here we go again."

"Yep. Just like old times."

"Just make sure you relay this information to her, all right? I'll try to keep you posted on new developments."

"Ditto. If all goes well the little woman and I might need the routing numbers to a few private bank accounts."

"How many?"

"At least nine. Maybe one or two more."

"You mean – "

"Yep. 900 million woolongs. At least."

Jet's face paled and he dragged a hand roughly over his square chin. "Christ. And you think he fell for it? Just like that?"

"Seemed to. Wants me to sort through this mess of invoices and business transactions and get back to him in a day or so."

"And this doesn't seem – hell, I don't know – too easy to you?"

"I try not to ask too many questions."

"So I noticed." Jet sighed and leaned forward again. "I suppose I'll keep in touch. Wouldn't want to keep you from your work, Logan."

"Yeah, right."

With that Spike's comm. went dead. He tossed it to the floor beside him and, crushing his cigarette to death between his fingers, sank back into the chair and resumed his work.

* * *

The sound of rustling fabric caught his attention, and when he lifted his eyes he found Faye standing in the doorway of the bedroom. Her right forearm was braced against the door frame and her left hand rested on her hip.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, yourself."

She looked like she had just stepped out of the shower. Her hair was damp and hung heavily just past her chest. She wore a thin grey tank top and a pair of short boxers. Her skin was still slightly dewy and, just beneath the curve of her breasts, he could see a hint of moisture seeping through her grey cotton shirt. He swallowed. Faye wasn't wearing a bra.

"Need help?"

He cleared his throat, "No. Not yours, anyway."

Faye dropped her arms to her sides and began to walk toward him. He noted the slow sway of her hips as she approached.

"Christ, Spike, what's got your panties in a bunch?"

_The fact that you're probably not wearing any_.

He tossed the stack of papers he was holding in his hands onto the floor in front of him. "Nothing, all right? But I've got a lot of work to do before I get back in touch with Bosch tomorrow morning, so I'd appreciate it if you'd – go practice putting on your makeup or something."

Faye was so close that she practically towered above his seated form. His eyes were level with her long, slender legs and he cautiously looked to her face.

"What are you doing sitting on the floor, anyway? There's a coffee table in front of the sofa."

Before he could respond she gathered a few odd papers from the floor along with the manila folder at his side and carried them to the couch. Spike simply growled before following her.

"I said I didn't want your help."

"Nonsense. We're comrades."

She sat down on the sofa then, the thick folder still resting in her hands. Spike furrowed his brow before swiftly wrenching it from her grasp.

She shrieked loudly at that, "Spike – son of a bitch!"

He noticed a neat red line beginning to form on her open palm. He suddenly felt a slight tinge of remorse – it was longer and appeared to be deeper than the average paper cut.

Faye lifted the bottom of her gray shirt and pressed it against her injured hand. He stared for a moment at the exposed flesh of her stomach, realizing if she lifted her shirt any further –

"Do you _mind_?"

Spike smirked, "Not at all." He plopped gracelessly onto the couch and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table as he opened the folder in his lap.

"I don't know what's gotten into you. You've been acting like a bigger jackass than usual."

_Bill to: LWK._ The hell was LWK?

"Is that so?"

"We're supposed to be working together here."

He shuffled through the pile of papers haphazardly, tossing aside various bank statements and memos in his wake. He had seen those initials somewhere else. Another invoice.

"Surprising words coming from a woman who apparently spent the majority of the day using up all the fancy soaps in the bathroom."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Spike. I hadn't realized that you had wanted some heart-shaped lilac soap for _your_ bath later today. How selfish of me."

"That's all I'm saying."

He kept his eyes focused on the papers in front of him and heard Faye grumble in response. In the time she'd been yapping in his direction he'd found eight similar invoices, all billed to the mysterious LWK.

"What's your deal, anyway?" she asked.

"My _deal_ is that you're getting in my fucking way." So he had no idea where that came from, but nevertheless decided to go along with it anyway.

He ran his hand idly through his hair attempting to concentrate on the documents before him. Whoever – or whatever – LWK was, he certainly had a pressing need for – ladybugs? Spike smirked and looked at the letterhead at the top of the invoice. Hart's Beneficial Insect Co. A clever little cover if he'd ever seen one. He supposed it wasn't as though Bosch would be stupid enough to keep an explicit paper trail of all his bloody eye transactions. Either that or he really was making a killing in the insect business.

"So, what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Oh, hell if I know, Faye. Why don't you do what you always do – raid the mini bar, steal all the cash, and disappear for a few weeks."

She fell silent at that, and the sound of Spike shuffling through papers filled the room for few brief moments. He stopped to scribble a few numbers on a steno pad at his side before continuing. Faye shifted beside him and he heard her draw a deep breath and exhale sharply.

"Fuck you, Spike."

"Sounds like fun, but I'm busy right now."

He'd noticed the majority of invoices mirrored the ones addressed to LWK. They were all cryptic – billing information obscured by initials and X's, letterheads from various companies – all subsidiaries of "St. Gabriel Laboratories," Bosch's current front company, no doubt. _LWK. Acct. No. 8RF9K-XXXX-XXZ72. Ship to: 482-XXX -- _The rest of the address was blacked out in magic marker. _ACS. Acct. No. 4WK9A-XXXXX-XXC34. Ship to: --_

The folder flew violently from his lap, the mess of papers scattering and fluttering to the floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, goddamn it!" Faye demanded.

He clenched his teeth hard before turning to look at her. "What?" he asked lowly.

"So this is it, huh? You're just going to ignore me while you do the legwork and then drag me along whenever you need a pair of tits and ass?"

"Just like old times, right?"

Faye stomped her foot childishly and he assumed that wasn't the response she was looking for.

"Tell me what's really going on. This is about last night, isn't it? The truth too much for you, Spike-O? Don't want to admit what an insufferable asshole you've been?"

"You want the truth? Okay, here's the truth. I don't trust you, Faye. I didn't trust you then, and I sure as hell don't trust you now. If it had been up to me, I wouldn't have spent the last six months tracking you down so that we could go carousing around Venus like – "

"Oh, so it is about last night, then."

"What?" he asked. The word came out sharper than he'd intended.

"Why on Earth would you want to face me after walking out a year and a half ago knowing I'd demand an explanation?"

"I don't owe you an explanation, Faye. It was none of your business."

She shot to her feet at his remark. "Like hell it wasn't! You walked out when you knew goddamn well what it would cost you – what it would cost Jet and me. And why? So you could throw your life away because it just wasn't worth living anymore? Because it was without _her_?"

"You'd better shut your mouth while you're ahead."

She ignored him and continued, "You know, it's funny – you accusing me of being reckless and selfish. At least I knew where I belonged. What was important."

He stood and faced her, the small clearance between the coffee table and the couch causing them to stand awkwardly close to one another. "Oh yeah? And where do you belong now, Faye? What's so important _now_?"

She pursed her lips together and let out a deep breath. He turned his back on her then and began to walk toward the bedroom.

He heard her padding quickly behind him, and he made it just past the doorway before she grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her.

"You're not walking away from me again."

He hesitated for a moment before a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, "That so?"

"Yeah. That's so."

"All right, Romany, what have you got? What have you been so anxious to say to me after I so heinously wronged you?"

Her right eyebrow twitched and she crossed her arms slowly over her chest. Okay. Wrong answer. "So none of this bothers you?" she asked incredulously. "You don't feel the slightest bit of remorse for what you've put Jet and me through? Not a single pang of guilt?"

"Well," he said, lowering his voice a little, "you can scream at me all you want, Faye, but your being in love with me really isn't my problem, is it?"

Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. He at least felt satisfied at that.

"Oh – and nice touch slipping Jet's name in there as a distraction. And I thought we were being honest, here."

She pressed her lips together again and raised an eyebrow.

"What? No comment?" he asked.

She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. "You are such an unbelievable egomaniac, you know that?"

"Funny, I'm still not hearing a rebuttal."

"As if you need one?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Do I?"

"I am _not_ in love with you, you narcissistic bastard."

"Oh yeah? I don't believe you."

He took a step toward her and she took a step back.

"What, you want me to spell it out for you? Shall I put it in writing and get it notarized, too?"

He took another step toward her. She stumbled a little as she backed away and he noticed the flush on her chest and the way it spread quickly to her cheeks.

"No. I want to hear you say it again. Say you don't love me."

Another step forward, two steps back.

Faye huffed and rolled her eyes, "Don't you think I should wait until you get this on tape? I'd hate for you to be upset upon hearing it from my lips again." She sounded so small – voice unsteady, chest rising and falling gently with each uncertain breath.

He gave her a dangerous, lopsided grin, "Yeah, really breaks my heart, sweetheart."

And then her back connected with the bedroom wall. He noted how she tensed as it happened – palms flat, back straight, she looked like a cornered animal. Her eyes searched his face wildly and he wondered what she hoped to find there.

"Say it again," he dared her, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. "Tell me you don't love me."

"I. don't. love. you."

A slow smile. "Really?" he drawled. He braced his hand against the wall beside her head and leaned forward to close the space that remained between them. One last step. His hips rolled against hers – suddenly bringing stomach, thighs, and chest into aching contact – and he tried to hold back an involuntary shudder. A low groan as he realized just how incredible it felt to press his hips against hers - how badly he'd needed it. So much for this plan. Maybe it was going to end up flustering him more than her. "Then prove it."

She swallowed but didn't say a word. He watched her for a moment, searching her wide eyes for an answer she wouldn't give him, before finally resting a hand against her cheek with uncharacteristic gentleness, letting her hair fall softly between his fingers. The heady scent of lilac flowers and her perfume nearly overwhelmed him, and the feeling of her gentle breath against his skin wasn't doing him any favors.

His rough hand moved over her cheek and he splayed his fingers over the sensitive skin of her neck. And then, keeping his eyes focused on hers, he leaned against her slowly, the tip of his nose grazing hers as he tilted his head to claim her soft lips with his own. He felt her body tense against him and a smile tugged at his lips as he rolled his hips against her middle once again.

A low sigh – his or hers, he couldn't tell. He slowly drew her bottom lip into his mouth, taking it between his teeth for a brief moment before letting his tongue trace its gentle fullness. He tangled his fingers in her hair, suddenly intoxicated by the faintest aroma of cheap shampoo and the sweetness of her mouth pressed so softly against his own. One last gentle suck on her lip before letting his tongue find hers.

Had he realized teasing Faye would feel this good, he would have started a long time ago.

That is until he felt her fist connect sharply with his jaw.

"Jesus Christ, Faye!" he hissed through gritted teeth. He raised a hand to cradle his aching jaw. The subtle taste of her lips was soon replaced by the metallic bitterness of blood.

"You want proof? There's your fucking proof!"

For once he had nothing to say back to her – no sarcastic comments, no tasteless jokes – he just stood by and watched as she seethed before him.

"And so long as we're being honest, Spike, let me tell _you_ the truth. Maybe I cared about you once, all right? Maybe there was a time when I thought that we were more than just two lonely strangers drifting through space on some godforsaken, run down fishing ship. And, you know, maybe – maybe I thought I could see myself looking after you – chasing you down after you'd leave on some crazy suicide mission. Like when you asked me if I'd come find you when you went after that – that maniac. Pierrot, was it? And I suppose I thought – just maybe – there was also a time when I was more to you than just 'a pair of tits and ass.'"

"Your words, not mine." So maybe he wasn't helping. Still, it was true.

Faye narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath, her chest and shoulders rising slowly. "But not anymore, Spike. Not since you walked out – without so much as a 'fuck you.'" He could see her hands shaking and her voice was amazingly steady considering the mood she was in. "And why?" she asked gently, her eyebrows furrowing. It would have been cute had her voice and features not been seething with bitterness. "Because you knew you weren't coming back?" Her voice broke as she said the last word and he suddenly realized he'd lost and there was no way he'd be getting out of this one.

He swallowed, unable to give her an answer. Her face twisted in disgust and she shoved her way past him toward the door.

Tensing his jaw, he drew his fingers into fists. So there was nothing he could say to keep her from hating him. And nothing, he supposed, he could say that could make her hate him any less. Or any more.

"Oh, yeah?" he called after her, "Well, here it is, Valentine – fuck you!"

But the front door had already slammed behind her. He paced back into the living room, and, standing once more in silence before the large window overlooking the city, he lit another cigarette.

* * *

**A/N: Ooookay, there it is! I hope this chapter was more entertaining than the last one. I certainly had much more fun writing it. I'm a bit worried the plot is getting dull – too predictable, maybe? Plot is really not one of my strong points – which is pretty sad.**

**Anyway, I also hope that this chapter is not too gratingly OOC. I was a bit wary of throwing the kiss in there, but, in the end, I felt it worked. And, as usual, praise, criticism, and flames are all welcome!**

**Oh, and a few notes on the side. Number one, I have been considering finding an editor (or beta reader) for this fic. Anyone interested? Send me a message and I'll be sure to get back to you.**

**On a related note, I was wondering if anyone would be interested in starting a writer's forum for Cowboy Bebop. It really is a shame to have so many talented writers all in one place, yet to not have any sort of critical discussion about people's fics or just the art of writing in general – you know, dos and don'ts, that sort of thing. I thought I'd just throw the idea out there to see if it generated any sort of interest.**

**Finally, as always, stay tuned for the next riveting installment of Tuesday's Gone!**

**Rock on kids!**

**Nevi**


	12. Original Sin

**Chapter Twelve:**

**Original Sin**

* * *

_Oh, the furnace wind  
Is a flickering of wings about your face  
In a cloud of incense  
Yeah, it smells like Heaven in this place_

_Tell me how, you know now, the ways and means of getting in  
Underneath my skin,  
Oh, you were always my original sin  
And tell me why I shudder inside every time we begin  
This dangerous game  
Oh, you were always my original sin  
_

_Up in the balcony  
All the Romeos are bleeding for your hand  
Blowing theater kisses  
Reciting lines they don't understand_

--Elton John

* * *

The heavy door slammed satisfyingly behind her and she fell against it for a moment in an attempt to catch her breath.

Spike had just kissed her. Spike Spiegel – the lanky, fuzzy-headed, insufferable lunkhead had actually _kissed_ her. She had half a mind to storm back into the room and shoot him dead right then and there – over and done with, though perhaps not the grand scene Luke had been hoping for. Except that she didn't have her gun. Or her keycard. Damn it.

She also realized, then, that she was wearing nothing but a blood-soaked gray tank top and a pair of short flannel boxers. She sighed, staring down at her bare feet for a moment. It wasn't as though she could just pound on the door and demand that he let her in after the scene she'd made.

She sank to the floor and hugged her knees against her chest, titling her head back against the door and closed her eyes.

It was funny. She'd always imagined kissing Spike would be like some half-realized experience from a fitful dream. But standing there, feeling his body pressed against her frame—all harness and heat—taut muscle and bone, his rough hands and strong fingers tangled up in her hair—breathing the smoky sigh that escaped his lips as he kissed her—it became all too achingly real. Like some kind of nightmare she couldn't shake.

She balled her fists at her sides, long fingernails digging into soft skin. Just when she trusted him enough to open up—

Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn't about trust. Maybe it was about her being hurt and confused and shit-faced drunk. Well, what the hell was the difference anyway?

She ran her hands through her hair, gathering the loose strands into two tight fistfuls. She was losing sight of the goal. This wasn't about obtaining some impossible reconciliation, it was about—

Well, what was it about? It was about him leaving, wasn't it? About him running off to his death two years ago and leaving her alone to deal with it however the hell she could? It was about the fact that after working together for years she still meant absolutely nothing to him. She was expendable.

It was about revenge and Luke and her whole new, fucked up life. It was about getting rid of him once and for all--out of her life, out of her mind.

And, most of all, it was about giving him what he wanted—exactly what he wanted. A meaningless death at the hand of a former comrade. Right? Right.

She needed a drink. Badly. Pushing herself off the floor, she padded down the hall toward the elevator.

* * *

As soon as his fine motor skills began functioning again, Spike loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. He made his way slowly to the bathroom, deciding that a hot shower might be the best course of action.

He hit the lights and kicked the door closed behind him. Faye hadn't bothered to put a towel on the floor after her bath, and he could see her watery footprints standing on the cool marble tile.

He tossed his tie and shirt aside in the corner and began fumbling with his belt.

So maybe kissing her wasn't the best idea. He spit into the bathroom sink, blood clinging to the porcelain.

Okay, it definitely wasn't a good idea.

His feet slid through the water on the floor as he made his way to the shower. He turned the heat full on—nearly scalding. Just how he liked it.

The shower soon filled with steam and he let out a satisfied groan as the water soaked his hair and cascaded over his back and shoulders.

He noticed that Faye had, in fact, left some of the soap and shampoo for him. He smirked, picking up the heart shaped lavender soap and inspecting it carefully. It was one of those decorative, molded soaps that only seemed to materialize in hotel rooms.

He looked over his shoulder cautiously—as if by instinct—and then shrugged. Ah, what the hell. He rubbed the soap between his palms and worked the rich lather over his body. For once he was thankful that Jet wasn't around. Had he smelled lilac flowers on Spike's skin he'd never let him live it down. Still, it wasn't like there was anything else he could use…

He set the soap back in the ceramic dish and picked up the small bottle of shampoo. As he poured a portion of it into his cupped palm, he was suddenly hit with Faye's scent all over again. The smell of lilac and cheap shampoo permeated the shower mist and, with each breath he took, he drew the scent deeper into his lungs. Just what he needed—another reminder of her. As if the whole scene burned into his brain weren't enough—as if he'd needed something else to go along with the feeling of her that hadn't left his fingertips.

He realized he was working the shampoo into his hair harder than he'd intended. Fingernails scraped against scalp as he closed his eyes, the entire scene flickering behind his eyelids. Parted lips, wild eyes. The heat of skin against skin—hips to hips, chest to chest, mouth to—

Oh, Christ.

Somehow, in-between lathering his hair and letting the hot water cascade over his shoulders, he'd failed to notice that he'd become painfully hard. He swore under his breath and rested his forearm against the cool shower wall.

This couldn't be happening. He let out an unsteady breath. Of all people—Faye? No. This wasn't about Faye. It was about the fact that it had been nearly five years since he'd been with a woman. And over ten since he'd felt his blood surge through his veins like a fucking AC current.

It wasn't about Faye.

He felt his hand close around his shaft and a ragged sigh escaped his lips. It'd been a long time. Too long. And maybe if he kept his hands on his own body he could keep them off of hers. Jesus.

He moved his fist slowly, dragging his palm over his entire length.

He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as a low moan tore from the back of his throat. "Oh, fuck—" The words were swallowed by the hiss of the shower spray.

This isn't about her. This isn't about her. It's not about her.

He let his shoulders roll forward and he rested his forehead against the shower tiles.

_"Say it again. Say you don't love me."_

No. It's not—it's not about…

He remembered her breath fluttering over his bare chest the night before—her slender fingers trailing over the hot skin of his neck, and her pelvis moving slow and hard over his own. He swore he'd stayed unbearably hard the rest of the night. He groaned at the memory and tried to concentrate on the slow movement of his calloused hand over his increasingly sensitive skin.

He drew a sharp breath. The air was thick with steam and perfume. Steam and perfume. Her perfume. It clung to his lips and hair and didn't let go.

Another long stroke to the tip and all the way back down. Moving faster. His thumb teased the sensitive head and his mouth fell open.

"Fuck—Oh, God—"

_Say it again._

He tried not to think of her. Tried to think of anything but the taste of her on his tongue. The feeling of her hair falling between his fingers. He tried to think of something besides the sigh she breathed against his mouth as he kissed her, and the desperation that sound had fueled in him.

Fingers slipped over skin and gripped at wet tiles. Groaning now—just a little louder. His hips moved slowly like he'd do if she were pressed close against him.

He didn't know much about the devil or sin, but he knew that if Faye was the devil, then this was sin. Something about what he was doing felt so wrong--keeping her locked away in his mind where she couldn't see, couldn't defend herself; couldn't escape. It pleased him more than he wanted to admit.

_I. don't. love. you._

He felt his muscles tense painfully, and he reached for the shower railing as his knees weakened and his nerves ignited. Blood roared in his ears, and he drew a desperate breath of air deep into his lungs. Then kips opened and words spilled like water. Oh, fuck—_fuck_—

"Faye—"

Spike jerked his hand away from his softening skin quickly and pounded his fist hard against the shower wall. He took one deep breath and then another, suddenly feeling as though he were drowning in the humid air.

He lifted his forehead for a moment, only to let it fall back against the slick tiles—as if that simple action could shake the thought of her from his mind.

"Fuck," he muttered again, pushing himself off the wall. He turned the water off and stepped onto the cold marble floor.

Sleep. That's what he needed. And some ice for his jaw. He wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. The steam billowed into the cool air of the bedroom and soon dissipated to nothing.

* * *

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Spike's voice caused her to jump. And she had almost made it to the elevator, too. She turned toward him, arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

"Oh, as if—"

Spike stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He ran a hand roughly through his wet hair, shaking free a shower of water droplets. Faye watched one as one stray drop rolled along his well-muscled chest and disappeared into the white towel.

She cleared her throat and continued, "That's not really any of your business, is it?"

"You'll make it my business when you blow our cover."

Faye glared at him. She was so tired of hearing him say that. As if it mattered. She toyed with the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down slightly just under her sharp hip bones. "You know what? You—you can just—"

He raised a brow in anticipation.

She balled her fists at her side. "You can just—shut up, Spike. You don't even know anything."

"I know that if they caught you looking like that in the lobby they'd throw your ass out on the street."

Faye kept her eyes narrow and chewed on the inside of her lip. So she'd failed to look that far ahead. Whatever. She could probably find some poor sap to take her back to his hotel room before she was thrown out, anyway. Stupid Spike.

She huffed and spat out the only response she could think of. "As if you care, anyway."

"How can you say that? Of course I care. If you blow our cover I'm out over 900 million woolongs."

"Oh, forgive me. And here I thought you didn't have a heart."

"An honest mistake."

"Brutally, you might say."

He shrugged. "You might."

"Fuck you."

"Don't you think we should go back inside, first?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure—_you_ can, if you don't mind putting on a one-man show. I'm going downstairs for a drink."

Something she couldn't recognize flashed behind his eyes and he took a long breath. "Get back in the room, Faye," he said.

She gave him an exaggerated pout and sauntered toward him, "Oh no—I'm so sorry. …You're not going to ground me, are you, Spike?" she asked, her voice low and playful, feigning fear. She stopped inches in front of him and ran a fingernail teasingly along his chest.

He smirked and grabbed her wrist. "I can't make any promises."

"So, what's my punishment?"

"Get back in the room."

"Well, well … you know, lately you have quite a way of dodging my questions. Do I make you nervous?"

"Nervous isn't exactly the right word."

She drew the corners of her mouth into a cruel smirk as she let her eyes travel the length of his body. "Yeah. So I thought."

His jaw tensed but he didn't respond.

She pressed her palm flat against his cool chest and shoved him out of the doorway. He stumbled a bit as she walked past him. She heard him grumble as he walked into the room and slammed the door behind him.

Faye made a beeline for the mini-bar and withdrew two small bottles of vodka and orange juice. She reached for a glass and filled it quickly.

"So…" Spike began. He was leaning against the door, apparently not feeling the least bit modest considering his current state of undress.

"So, what?"

"LWK. Mean anything to you?"

She dropped the lid to the vodka bottle and swore under her breath. "What?"

"LWK. What are they, initials?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"I just thought you might know something, is all."

"Oh, right…given that I'm widely known for my uncanny ability to decrypt random code in acronym form." She took a deep gulp from her drink and slammed the glass onto the top of the mini-fridge.

"Don't get so bent out of shape, I was just asking."

"Well, don't."

"You said you wanted to help."

Faye pursed her lips together, her jaw shifting slightly before she made her way into the bedroom.

Spike sighed and she heard him follow her across the room. "Okay, so—what? We're not on civil terms now?"

"Your call, not mine. Remember?" She let her eyes scan the bedroom for a moment and, not finding what she was looking for, she moved into the bathroom. Spike muttered something she couldn't understand behind her. Finally, in a heap in the corner, she found his suit jacket. She lifted it off the floor and shuffled through the pockets for the pack of cigarettes she knew he kept there.

"The hell are you doing?" he shouted as he entered the bathroom.

Faye tossed her head, attempting to keep her long bangs out of her eyes as she continued riffling through his jacket pockets. "Cigarettes," she said simply.

"You could have just asked."

She ignored him, finally finding his Marlboros and slipping a slender stick between her lips. She lit the tip as soon as she fished the lighter from his pants pocket. "Why are you asking me these things, anyway? The initials, I mean."

"They were on some of Bosch's invoices. Billing information, apparently."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. This LWK has a thing for ladybugs."

Faye raised a brow in his direction as she took a drag from her cigarette.

"It's a cover. I would think, anyway. The invoice came from Hart's Beneficial Insect Co.—a subsidiary of St. Gabriel Laboratories."

"Bosch's front corporation."

"Bingo."

"So, do you have an address for this LWK? Home, billing—anything?"

"No. The personal information all appears to be hidden. The account numbers are obscured by X's and the addresses have all been blacked out with magic marker. But, from what I can tell, they're all original invoices."

Faye growled under her breath. She couldn't wait to give Luke and Bosch an earful concerning this recent development. She'd glanced at the invoices in the board room but hadn't been paying much attention to anything but the prices printed on them.

She made her way back into the living room to retrieve her drink. Spike followed on her heels, of course, and she resisted the urge to turn around and deck him again.

Spike cleared his throat and she took another drink. "We can take a look at them now, if you like."

"Oh, really? Thanks for granting me permission, partner."

"Christ, Faye, what do you want me to say? You said you wanted to help."

She finished her drink and then placed the glass upside down on the top of the fridge. "Okay, fine. I'll take a look."

* * *

**A/N: All right, so…I should say that I really, really, dislike this chapter. I found it incredibly hard to write, for one, and also, it just seems sort of dull. Of course, that may be due to the fact that a large chunk of it was written while I was consuming jello shots. From a martini glass. Yes, I **_**am**_** that trashy—though, in my defense, I only did this because I learned that you can't make jello shots in those little paper cupcake holders. Ahem. But I digress. I know this chapter is short, but I have been trying to write it for a long time now, and I just wanted to put it out of its misery, so to speak. Or me out of my misery. The lines have sort of blurred there.**

**Also, about the Spike-on-Spike action…I am not sure what to think about this scene. POV, punctuation, and style all go to hell toward the end for obvious reasons, though I am not sure how effective this is. It is one of those things where it either works really well or fails miserably—so feel free to tell me what you think. I promise I won't cry if you say the attempt totally blew up in my face.**

**So, in conclusion, I hope to have a better chapter for you all soon. Thank you for reading and bearing with me through some of these not-so-interesting chapters. I love you all!**

'**Till Next Time!**

**Nevi**


	13. Jesus Christ

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Jesus Christ**

* * *

_I know you're coming in the night like a thief  
But I've had some time alone to hone my lying technique  
I know you think that I'm someone you can trust  
But I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up  
So do you think that we could work out a sign  
So I'll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try…_

-Brand New

* * *

Faye had been, as he'd predicted, more of a nuisance than anything else. She spent all of five minutes flipping through the various invoices and bank statements before draping herself over the back of the small sofa and stating that she'd rather be watching a movie. Attempting to ask her questions proved to be just as fruitless—if she wasn't dodging a question she was berating him for asking something which, according to her, she couldn't possibly know.

Thirteen cigarettes and one whiskey sour later he decided he'd had enough.

"What are you doing?" she asked, finally raising her head from the back of the couch and locking her eyes on his.

"Going to get some actual work done," he said, gathering the scattered papers from the floor and coffee table.

Faye huffed. "Good luck with that."

He ignored her and shoved the papers into the manila folder, grabbing his suit jacket from the chair.

"Where are you going?"

"Does it matter?"

She shrugged. "I don't want you waking me up in the middle of the night."

"I'm going to visit Jet—see if he can make any sense of these. I should be back before too long."

She gave him a smirk and then sank back into the couch as he crossed the room to the door. "Hurry home, dear," she called as he slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Spike had left five minutes ago. Or so she thought, anyway. She hadn't been paying attention. She twirled a long lock of hair around her finger and, as soon as she was relatively sure that he had left for good, she made her way to the bedroom.

Once there, she rifled through her suitcase, searching desperately for her comm. Of all the idiotic things Luke had ever done—well—she supposed this was the first. Nevertheless—

Her fingers brushed against gun metal and she felt a cool shudder creep underneath her skin. If Luke was anything he was meticulous and methodical. There had to be a reason. She buried the gun further in her suitcase and felt relieved when her fingers finally found her communicator.

"Luke Kennedy."

Three rings. She rolled her eyes and he picked up.

"Darling," he said with a wide smile. "Starting to miss me?"

"You gave him the original invoices? Are you _insane_?"

"Hardly. I'm surprised you're so … incensed. What's up?"

"He's not an idiot, Luke. He just ran off to Jet to see if he could dig up any additional information about these transactions."

Luke shrugged and reclined in his chair. "So?"

"What do you mean _so_? What are you going to do when he figures out who you are? Doesn't that throw a little kink in your plan?"

"He couldn't scrounge up information about those transactions if he tried. There are no existing digital copies. Bosch isn't stupid enough to leave a paper trail."

"There's at least enough information in those invoices for him to track them back to you. Don't you get it? He's going to figure out—"

"Listen, babe, why don't you leave the business end of things to me, all right? It's taken care of. Your job is to look pretty and break his heart. Literally, of course."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why give him the original paperwork? Paper trail or not, it's unnecessarily reckless."

"Not that it's really any of your business, but we need your block-headed partner to take the money off our hands. At least for now. You're forgetting this is still dirty money, Faye."

"And if he clears out the accounts and robs you blind?"

"You'll see to it that he doesn't."

She raised a brow and he continued.

"You're going to give me the routing and account numbers to those bank accounts. With that information we can use demand drafts to re-route the money back into the Dragons' accounts. All unbeknownst to Spiegel, of course."

"And—what? That's it?"

"That's it. As far as you're concerned, anyway."

"I see."

"Like I said, Faye. Stand tall, look pretty."

She exhaled and closed her eyes. "Right."

"That's my girl. I'm counting on you."

The comm. clicked off and she tossed it back into the suitcase amongst her clothes. Break his heart. Not that that would be possible considering the way things were going.

She made her way back into the living room. Another drink was in order. She pulled a small bottle of gin from the fridge and decided not to bother with another glass.

* * *

"Spike-person!"

He'd been on the ship no more than two minutes before he felt Ed tangle her thin limbs around his left leg. He sighed and looked down in her direction.

"Hey, kid."

Jet appeared around the corner, wiping his grease-stained hands on an old rag. "Spike."

Spike motioned to the thin girl attached to his leg. She was nuzzling his calf and singing a song about marshmallows and wombats.

"Ed," Jet called, tucking the rag into his back pocket, "why don't you go into the other room and keep Ein company?"

"Right-O, purple cheerio!" She stood and saluted Jet before running off into the next room.

"So, the kid's back?"

"Yep. Just showed up about an hour or so ago, too."

"Any particular reason?"

"You know Ed. She muttered something incomprehensible and ran onto the ship as though she'd never left."

Spike just shrugged and lit a cigarette.

"I like that shade, by the way," Jet said, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Huh?"

Jet tapped a cheek with his index finger.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not like it's the first time you've seen me black and blue, Jet."

"Woman decked you, huh?"

Spike inhaled sharply on the end of his cigarette, the tip flaring brightly in the dark hall. "For your information, I was in a bar fight."

Jet placed a hand on Spike's shoulder. "It's okay, Spike. This is a safe place. You don't have to hide anything."

Spike glared and knocked Jet's hand off his shoulder. "Can it, Jet."

"All right, all right. So why are you here?"

Spike thrust the folder at him and Jet grabbed at it awkwardly.

"Bosch's invoices. His clients' personal information is all obscured. I was hoping you could find some leads for me."

Jet flipped through the files for a moment. "Why are you so interested in Bosch's clients?"

"Just got a bad feeling is all. Why would he go to such lengths to hide their identities?"

"Well, he is dealing in bloody eye, after all. Not really transactions you would want to be transparent."

Spike ran his hand through his hair. "I don't like it, Jet. This thing could be bigger than us and Bosch. We've got our hands in more than a few pockets—I wanna know who we're dealing with."

"All right, fair enough," Jet said, turning and making his way to the common room. Spike followed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

Ed sat on the coffee table, pounding furiously at the keys of the Tomato. Jet dropped the folder in front of her. She looked up, lifting one lens of her goggles to peer at Jet.

"We've got some work for you, Ed."

Spike idly flipped through the channels on the vid screen. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ed typing away furiously at her Tomato with her feet. Jet was in the kitchen brewing a pot of (what he would guess was) very bitter coffee. He muted the vid screen and pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

"I got the list of account and routing numbers you asked for," Jet called.

"Yeah?"

"All you've got to do now should be to convince Bosch to wire the cash to the accounts."

Spike toyed with his cigarette for a moment, twisting it in his fingers.

Jet appeared in the doorway with two large mugs of coffee in hand. "Don't look so nervous. We're practically home free."

Spike turned his head to eye Jet for a moment before placing the cigarette between his lips. "Whatever you say," he said, lighting the cigarette.

Jet just shrugged, setting Spike's mug in front of him on the coffee table.

"Edward has found something!" the girl called.

"Huh? What is it, Ed?"

"Phone calls, phone calls, phone calls!" she chanted, flailing her arms in the air.

"Phone calls?"

"From Mr. Jack Bosch."

Spike leaned forward and raised a brow, "You have a list of calls Bosch has made?"

"Well," she said, drawing out the word needlessly, "not exactly. Intercepted transmissions!" She quickly punched a few keys and numerous windows appeared on her computer screen. "No numbers or locations, but connection data."

"That doesn't do us any good, Ed. They're just encrypted VoIP protocols. What are we supposed to do with these?" Jet asked, peering over the girl's shoulder.

"Decrypt and eavesdrop!"

Spike raised a brow, "What does that mea—" Before he could finish his sentence Ed's hand was fishing through the pocket of his suit jacket as it lay draped over the arm of the sofa. "Hey! Back off, kid," he said, swatting at her wrist. She ignored him and grinned as she pulled his comm. from the pocket.

"Lookie, lookie!" She waved it in front of his face as though he ought to be surprised that she found the thing in his pocket.

He felt his eyebrow twitch and he balled his hands into fists, "Don't play with that, Ed."

She turned back to the Tomato, holding the communicator in one hand and typing quickly with the other. "Ed can decrypt the packets and broadcast the signal from the Tomato to the communicator."

Spike looked to Jet who shrugged simply. The hiss of static rose from the comm.'s speakers and Ed toyed with the buttons on the side momentarily, attempting to clarify the signal.

_"…and the money will be taken care of later this week."_

Spike could barely identify the voice as Bosch's. Through the static and distortion, it was a miracle they could even recognize the language as English.

_"Which means?"_

_"I'll have it wired as soon as I can. It should be clean as soon as it's out of our hands. It's practic—"_

_The signal faded for a moment before returning to full strength._

_"And you don't think he knows?"_

_"Didn't let on, anyway. Seems totally convinced. He went on and on about investment strategies and financial planning."_

Laughter, then silence.

_"We'll be dining at Chez Henri this Wednesday. We'll take care of it then."_

_"Don't take the first shot."_

_"I know, I know. So what do you want me to do with the girl—"_

The signal faded again before cutting out. Spike swore under his breath and snatched the communicator out of Ed's hand, slamming its side hard against the edge of the metal coffee table, as if that simple action could restore the signal.

"Spike!" Jet called.

Spike ignored him and gripped the comm. tightly in his hand, letting it connect once again with the smooth metal. "Not yet, you son of a bitch," he muttered, knocking the side of his palm against the communicator.

Jet snatched it away, giving him a steely glare. "You've already trashed two of my communicators, Spike. This won't be the third."

He exhaled, a cloud of smoke swirling before his face. "Not my fault you buy cheap electronics."

"It's worth more than you at the moment."

Spike huffed and crushed his cigarette between his fingers. "Give it back, Jet."

Jet pursed his lips together tightly before tossing the comm. back to him. He caught the device without taking his eyes off Jet's face.

"So what do you make of it?" Spike asked.

"Of what?"

"What do you mean 'of what'? The whole conversation."

Jet shrugged, "Was vague at best. Could mean anything. As far as I know Bosch thinks M & A is legit—that he's funneling dirty money through the company and you two are none the wiser."

Spike took a breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "You've got to be kidding me, Jet."

"Look, does it really matter? You heard what Bosch said—he's planning on wiring the money anyway. If he's trying to double cross us I don't see how—"

"How he'd get the cash back if he shot us up in the middle of Chez Henri? The man's trying to use us to launder 900 million woolongs in drug money. It's not like he's a stranger to white collar crime. He'd find a way. Jesus."

Jet just sighed and ran his good hand over the top of his head. "I really don't know what to tell you, Spike—not like there's much you can do. Stay ten steps ahead."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I think it's pretty fucking obvious that we're far from being ten steps ahead here, Jet. We're supposed to be conning Bosch. Not the other way around. We're going into this blind now."

"How do you know that's what he's planning? What could Bosch possibly have to do with you, anyway?"

"Wouldn't I like to know," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his jacket from the arm of the couch. "I want you to find out who Bosch was talking to, Ed. I want to know the names of the people he's been in touch with, and I want a list of his clientele."

Ed was, curiously enough, silent for a moment. She blinked, her large eyes focused on his as she scratched her head. "Oooh la la," she said, "and Ed just came back for the ramen."

Spike sighed and decided to assume that that was code for 'I'll get right on it.' He turned before being stopped by Jet's gruff voice.

"Hey, Spike," he called.

Spike closed his eyes and exhaled, keeping his back to the man behind him.

"What do you think they want with her?" Jet asked.

"With who?" he asked dumbly.

"Faye."

Spike withdrew another cigarette from his pocket. "Hell if I know." He flicked his Zippo to life and waited for Jet to continue.

"Maybe it's not you they want. Maybe somebody wants Faye Kennedy dead. And damn it if you weren't the one to lead them right to her."

* * *

By the time he'd returned the hotel room was dark and quiet. Faye was sprawled across the couch, her limbs dangling limply over its overstuffed cushions. A muted, 20th century movie played on the vid screen, and its glow flickered over her skin like light on water.

He sighed, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. As he approached the couch he could see that her eyes were closed, her full lips gently parted.

He'd have the bed to himself tonight, at least. He turned and started toward the bedroom, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as his feet sank into the plush carpet. He had nearly made it to the doorway before Faye's low moan caused him to freeze mid-step. Turning, he caught a glimpse of her slender leg slip from the back of the couch where it had rested.

He closed his eyes and took a breath before continuing to the bedroom.

He remembered seeing a few blankets folded on the top shelf of their closet. After removing his tie and pulling his shirt-tails from his pants, he pulled

It was soft in his hands and smelled faintly of cheap laundry detergent. He tucked the blanket underneath his arm and returned to the living room where Faye slept.

She'd shifted from her previous position. A lock of violet hair had fallen into her eyes, and her face was pressed against the plush cushions. Her shorts rode low on her slender hips, and one side of the gray tank top she wore had gathered and bunched just under her chest. He resisted the urge to straighten the fabric as she slept—to let his hands travel along her gently sloping waist, cradling every soft and smooth curve with his calloused fingers as they moved over the length of her body.

He let the thought slip from his mind as he draped the blanket over her shoulders. She moved again, a small sigh escaping her lips, though she didn't open her eyes. He watched her for a moment, his eyes vainly attempting to memorize the unwary innocence of her grave sleeping face in the shifting darkness. He'd seen this girl before—a pretty thing, so vibrant and determined, so unsuspecting and unknowing in her serious speech and careful actions that he was sure she'd no idea of what laid so close ahead in her future. The sad story of a pretty girl bound by magnetic tape and trapped behind glass.

He reached for her face, letting his fingertips brush her cheek before pushing the errant lock of hair from her eyes. He let his hand linger there for a moment before pulling it away. Noticing the far end of the couch was free, he walked toward it, taking care to sit down gently so as not rouse her from her sleep. He watched her for a moment before kicking his feet up on the coffee table and lacing his hands behind his head. Sighing, he settled back against the couch and closed his eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, okay, okay! I know it's been a long time, and for that I am truly sorry. I really struggled with this chapter because I had somehow managed to…not plot it ahead of time. If it's any consolation, I sort of know what happens in the next chapter! …And I am fairly sure that I know what happens in the chapter after that. Oh yes. Muahahaha!**

**Anyhow, not only was this chapter difficult to write, I also took some time off to work on a Bebop AMV that is sort of related to this fic. I know, I am an incurable loser. And, of course, despite weeks of work, I have only managed to finish 1 minute of the AMV. So it goes.**

**And now, to answer some questions and offer a pathetic and tasteless defense of my work:**

**First things first, I am, in fact, female. However, for some reason, I like to think that I am awesome at writing from a male POV. This is probably very far from the truth since I'm not a man…quite so much.**

**Also, I realize that making jello shots in cupcake holders would have been feasible had I used the ones that are reinforced with foil. The ones I used were waxed, and for some reason I didn't realize that they lacked the necessary structural integrity. This probably goes without saying, but I am dumb with a capital "D."**

**Now, some of what I have been thinking about as far as characterization goes…**

**I hadn't meant for Faye to come off as a violet-haired Julia, and I hope that she still retains much of her Faye-ness. That being said, some of the parallels are intentional because I do think there are a few key similarities between Faye and Julia that are important in regard to Spike's feelings for them. He says at one point that Faye's not the type of girl he would fall for. I find this statement patently untrue…she's exactly the kind of girl he would fall for, particularly because of her similarities to Julia in certain respects.**

**Also, as for Faye's personality changing…this was also intentional (duh), though I don't mean for it to be a total transformation. My rational for it, basically, is that given the aftermath of RFB, I can't imagine Faye NOT being irrevocably changed. She finally opens up to Spike (maybe you could go so far as to say she trusts him?) and he pretty much responds by saying "Well, that's neat, gotta go die now, bye." I imagine an ordeal like that would leave someone pretty screwed up.**

**And as far as the feelings go…I hope they're coming off better. Spike and Faye are, in my opinion, incredibly difficult to get together, particularly because Spike is so guarded with his emotions (perhaps you might even say defensive?) when it comes to Faye. I wanted him to finally become aware of his feelings for her in a moment where he was vulnerable and unguarded, as I don't think he's likely sit and sigh and think "Gee, I really am quite fond of Ms. Faye Valentine, I ought to pin her." …So I chose a moment where cough biology took over. I really hope it doesn't seem to forced, and I hope the romantic elements aren't coming out of left field. That would be…bad, to say the least. However, as always, if you feel there's something I've screwed up, suggestions are always welcome and appreciated!**

**Whew. Sorry about that. These are just a few things I've been mulling over…things I hope are coming through the story. If not, perhaps I just need to be trying harder :)**

**As always, read, review, eat, drink, and be merry!**

**Nevi**


	14. Cute Without the 'E'

**Chapter Fourteen:**

**Cute Without the 'E'**

* * *

_(I stay jealous)  
I stay wrecked and jealous  
for this simple reason:  
I just need to keep you in mind  
as something larger than life  
(she'll destroy us all before she's through  
and find a way to blame somebody else)_

--Taking Back Sunday

* * *

Faye groaned as her eyes fluttered open in the morning sunlight. She stretched, arching her long body over the low couch. She felt something graze her calf just as her feet connected with a warm mass on the other end of the couch.

She jumped, a scream slipping past her lips as her limbs flailed wildly. Her left hand connected with a vase of flowers on the nearby end table, sending it crashing to the floor, while her feet struck whatever it was that was resting at the end of the couch.

"Ugh, fuck!"

She scrambled to the end of the couch, tucking her knees against her chest before finally getting a look at whatever it was that had scared her.

"Spike!" she shouted, kicking him again for good measure.

He grunted and rubbed his arm, shooting her a narrow glare. "Good morning to you, too."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"In our _hotel_ room?"

"On the couch, asshole."

He shrugged and stood, making his way toward the coffee pot.

Faye sighed, straightening her tank top and shorts as she watched him cross the room. His shirt was open, his hair was mussed, and she noticed his pants riding low on his angular hips.

"You look like hell," she said.

He turned to look at her and raised a brow as his eyes traveled the length of her body. "You're not looking so good yourself."

Faye grunted and crossed her arms over her chest.

He began to make their morning coffee, shuffling awkwardly through the drawers and cabinets for the coffee and filters. Faye regarded him silently, raising her chin and tossing her head to remove a lock of hair from her eyes.

She cleared her throat before attempting further conversation. "So…" she began, "what time did you get in last night?"

"Late," he said simply.

"What did you find out?"

He shrugged. "This thing goes deeper than we thought. That's about all I know."

She blinked. "What? --I mean—how do you know?"

"Ed intercepted one of his phone calls."

"Oh," she said quietly, settling back against the couch. This wasn't good. She'd told Luke this would happen. Damn it.

"I'm meeting Bosch tomorrow for dinner at Chez Henri. Afterward we should get out of here as soon as possible."

"What do you mean _you're_ meeting Bosch for dinner tomorrow?"

"I mean just that. He'll be wiring the money just before, so I'm taking him out for a…celebration dinner."

"Don't you mean _we_?"

"No. You're not going," he said simply, pouring a cup of coffee.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not going."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want anything to go wrong."

"I think I can handle dinner, Spike."

"You're not going," he said again, enunciating each word.

"You know, we're supposed to be working together, here," she said, rising from the couch and padding over to the coffee pot to join him. "You'll be sorry if things turn ugly and you need me there after all."

"I'll take my chances," he said, handing her a full mug.

"You're such an arrogant bastard, Spike."

"Well, you know me."

Unsatisfied with his reply, she narrowed her eyes at him and chewed on the inside of her lip. "I'm going. You can't stop me."

He set his mug down on the table and turned toward her. "I'd really prefer it if you didn't."

She watched him for a moment, keeping her eyes fixated on his. "What's up with you, Spike? What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing, all right? I just want to handle this one on my own."

"No. Something's the matter, I can tell."

"Damn it, Faye—"

She placed a hand on her hip and waited for him to continue.

"Just do what I tell you for once, all right?"

She huffed and her lips curled into a smirk, "Whatever you say, _Dad_."

He sighed and shrugged out of his shirt after setting his mug down near the coffee pot. Faye swallowed, watching intently as the muscles of his back and shoulders rippled beneath his skin.

"_What_?" he spat.

She must have been staring. Shit. "Can't you do that in the bedroom?" she asked, looking away.

"Oh, yes -- my mistake. I should have known better than to spoil the virgin eyes of Mrs. Faye Kennedy with my naked chest."

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

Spike raised a brow and the corners of his mouth turned slowly upward. "That is your name, isn't it? _Faye Kennedy_?"

"I hate it when you say it like that."

"Like what?"

"You know what."

He shrugged and made his way to the bedroom. She couldn't help but turn and watch as he exited the room, and she felt her cheeks burn as she heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt. She turned quickly and squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm going," she called.

The only response she received was the loud smack of the bathroom door as it slammed closed.

* * *

Spike yawned, drying his hair with the small hotel bath towel as he walked into the living room. Faye had left, he assumed, while he was in the shower, and he noticed she had left the living room a complete wreck. Pillows from the couch lay haphazardly on the floor, and empty take-out containers and liquor bottles littered the coffee table.

_Thank god for the housekeeping staff_, he thought.

Near the coffee table, he saw a shattered vase. The flowers it once held were scattered limply over the floor amidst the pieces of broken porcelain. He remembered Faye knocking it from the table when she awoke, limbs flailing in every direction—mainly his.

He crouched to the floor and pressed his fingertips against the carpet.

It was completely dry. He felt a brow twitch. Carefully, he lifted a stray calla lily from the floor and examined it closely.

* * *

Faye idly twisted her engagement ring around her finger as she regarded the seemingly endless racks of evening gowns stretched before her.

Despite the fact that she had packed seven different suitcases for their trip, she decided that she did not, in fact, own a gown suitable for dinging at Chez Henri. And, as long as Luke and his fancy credit cards were footing the bill, it wasn't as if she could really say no.

She sighed and stepped forward, wandering between the racks of brightly colored gowns, occasionally letting her fingers stray over the fabric of a particularly appealing dress. At least if she bought an expensive gown, Spike would have to let her go—right?

She growled under her breath. '_Let_ her go'—please. As if that were really up to him, anyway. She wondered what, exactly, he had overheard Bosch saying. No doubt he was most likely talking to Luke. If she didn't know better she'd think Spike was trying to protect her. The thought made her laugh out loud. No, there _had _to be something in it for him if he showed up alone.

She grabbed a few dresses as she made her way through the store, draping the long gowns over her right arm.

Her comm. rang shrilly, and she swore under her breath as she rummaged through her purse in an attempt to silence the annoying object.

"Yeah?" she asked, clicking it on as quickly as she could.

"Hello to you, too."

It was Luke, of course. As if she couldn't go an entire day without speaking to him.

"What do you want, Luke?"

"Besides the chance to hear that sweet voice?"

She raised a brow in response.

"I suppose you've heard from Spiegel that you'll be closing the deal on Wednesday."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Just that. You'll be closing the deal. I want him gone—by the end of the night."

"And then what?"

"You come home, of course. It's been lonely around here without you."

"I'm so sure."

Luke pursed his lips together and exhaled. "Send the account numbers as soon as you receive them. I want this to go off without a hitch. Understood?"

"Yeah. You got it."

"Don't look so down, babe. You're doing brilliantly."

Faye just sighed, muttering 'yeah' under her breath.

Luke cracked his knuckles. She could see his tongue move over his teeth behind his closed lips. "How about this—when you get home, we'll have a proper honeymoon. Just you and me."

As if that were what was bothering her. She resisted the urge to remark that the definition of a 'proper honeymoon' obviously entailed 'just you and me.' Instead, she forced a small smile. "Sure—I mean. Of course, that would be great."

A smug grin spread over Luke's handsome features as if he'd just outwitted the Sphinx herself. "Perfect. I'll give the travel agent a call."

Faye nodded and the transmission ended. Not even an 'I love you' this time? She tucked her comm. back into her purse and made her way back to the fitting room.

* * *

Faye smoothed the fabric of the red evening gown with her hands before uneasily leaving her fitting room. She walked to the wrap-around mirror at the end of the hallway, turning slightly to get a good look at herself. The dress was backless and, at best, practically frontless. Broad ribbons of fabric covered her bust and clung to the curves of her waist, just barely exposing her low hips. The dress was long and light with plenty of flowing fabric. A long slit extended up the side, and she turned to examine it.

"Hot date?"

Faye turned and faced an older woman with a kind but weathered face.

"Oh—no," Faye stuttered uneasily, "I mean…sort of. It's a little complicated."

The woman smiled and waved a hand in face's direction as if to dismiss the topic, "Oh, say no more, honey. I understand."

Faye returned the smile and ran a hand over her hip, turning back to the mirror.

The woman joined Faye's side and examined her own refection for a moment.

"Don't look so nervous. If you show up looking like that your date will be lucky to be alive by the end of the night." The woman gave Faye a wink before turning and slipping into a nearby fitting room.

Faye turned to her reflection again, staring a moment more into the mirror.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

Faye slipped her keycard into the lock on the door and fumbled for a moment with the handle. She held two large shopping bags in her hands and, after wrestling with the door knob for a few seconds, she managed to push the door open with a hip. "…I'm all ready for Wednesday, so—"

The hotel room was completely trashed. Cushions were torn off couches and chairs, the fruit basket lay overturned on the floor, and intercoms and light sockets had been ripped from the walls.

"Spike! What the hell!"

His gaze met hers, and for a moment he looked like a child caught with his hand in the candy jar.

"The hell, yourself," he muttered, ripping a handful of wires from the ceiling where the smoke detector had been.

"What are you doing?" She dropped her bags to the floor, keeping her gaze locked on him as he climbed off the couch.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, picking a flower up off the coffee table and waving it before her face.

"…A calla lily?"

He glared and tossed it at her. "It's a bug, Faye."

She caught it and examined it closely. The central column was a well-disguised yellow microphone.

She felt the corners of her mouth turn downward and she lowered the flower to her side. If fell limply from her hand to the floor.

"Did you know about this?" he demanded.

"No!"

Spike's eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a thin, hard line.

"Of course I—how could you accuse me of something like this? Why the hell would I bug our hotel room?"

"I don't know. Why would you?"

Faye huffed. "How am I supposed to answer _that_? You're just going to accuse me outright for no good reason?"

"Who says I have no good reason?"

Faye exhaled, feeling her jaw tighten. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

"I've been told."

"You're _fucking _crazy," she said again.

Spike gripped the back of a tall wooden chair at his side tightly with his hand.

She took a breath and continued, "You really need to get off this paranoia trip."

"Or what?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and placed a hand on her hip. "What do you expect, Spike? Do you really think Bosch has bugged our entire hotel room, our ships—our—fuck, I don't know—our shoes?"

He eyed her intensely for a moment. "Well, I hadn't thought of the shoes."

She growled and threw her hands in the air. "Look, I don't know what's possessed you to become Spike 'Mulder' Spiegel all of a sudden, but—"

"Hey, I—wait, what?"

"Never mind," she muttered.

Spike ran a hand through his hair and pushed the chair aside as he approached her. "I don't know what's going on, all right? I have no fucking idea, and it—" he took a quick breath, "it—I don't want to see you—" he glared at her momentarily, finding their faces dangerously close once again. He lowered his eyes.

Faye shifted, suddenly wanting to bolt from the room.

"I don't know what to do or what to expect, but I know that this goes deeper than both of us."

Well, she couldn't disagree with that. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"You didn't hear him the other night. The things he said—and now this—" he motioned to the wires dangling from the ceiling. "I don't know what to do," he said again.

"Well," she started, gathering her bags, "you're doing a bang-up job so far."

She walked past him and closed the curtains to the bedroom.

* * *

**A/N: So there you have it. Not too interesting…again, more interlude-ish, but the next chapter should be way exciting! I don't have it planned out all the way yet, so it may be another two weeks wait or so…you can handle that, right? If you can't, you'll get over it.**

**Also, I would like to set the record straight and say that I do not, in any way, endorse Taking Back Sunday. I sort of hate them, really, but the lyrics fit.**

**Anyhow, as always, I hope you enjoyed reading and will leave me some sweet, sweet review-like candy.**

**Much love,**

**Nevi**


	15. Bird in a Gilded Cage

**Chapter Fifteen:**

**Bird in a Gilded Cage**

* * *

_The ballroom was filled with fashion's throng,_

_It shone with a thousand lights,_

_And there was a woman who passed along,_

_The fairest of all the sights,_

_A girl to her lover then softly sighed,_

"_There's riches at her command;"_

"_But she married for wealth, not for love," he cried,_

"_Though she lives in a mansion grand,_

_She's only a bird in a gilded cage."_

--Arthur Lamb

* * *

She was in the shower.

Well, he assumed she was, anyway. The water had been running for over an hour, and she still hadn't stepped out of the bathroom. The sound of water raining over porcelain filled the quiet hotel room.

It was an empty, lonely sound—and hollow, like the casing of a spent bullet falling from her glock.

Which didn't really surprise him. Everything about Faye was hollow and lonely.

He rose from the bed, deciding that as long as Faye was in the shower, he may as well take the time to pick her things up from the floor. In his quest to uncover any and all surveillance devices that might (or might not) have been planted in their hotel room by parties unknown, he'd overturned her open suitcase, and its contents lay scattered over the bedroom floor.

He sighed as he lifted the suitcase from the floor and tossed it back onto the plush chair and began to gather her clothes in his hands. A few sheer underthings—all black, of course. He swallowed the lump in his throat, quickly stuffing the clothes back into her suitcase. He happened over a short skirt, some tank tops, a pair of socks—before his fingers trailed over something cool and hard.

His brow furrowed and he pushed the random items of clothing aside.

Fuck. His fingers closed around metal and he didn't even have to look to know what rested in his hand. It was his Jericho.

He lifted it from the ground, unable to recall a time when it felt so heavy and cold.

It hadn't changed. He traced the familiar nicks, scratches, and scuffs. It still smelled like blood and gunpowder.

How the hell had Faye gotten her hands on it? He had left it at Red Dragon headquarters—dropped it, actually—after nearly being eviscerated by Vicious. And, given the circumstances, he'd decided getting to a hospital after he came to was more important than hunting for the Jericho. Which isn't to say it wasn't a tough call.

She'd probably gone hunting for him after he left and found the Jericho instead. She had a way of sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. At the very least it would explain how the hell she knew he was alive. He wasn't buying her freckle story for a minute. After all, she was trashed off her ass. And probably horny to boot.

He stood and tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants, making his way toward Faye's nightstand. Her glock rested on the smooth marble top and he took it in his hand and released the magazine.

* * *

"Get out."

He opened one eye and found Faye hovering over him, her damp hair wrapped in a large, white towel. A long, violet strand, plastered against her warm and wet skin, snaked down her neck and across her collar bone, disappearing into her cleavage. He enjoyed the view for a moment before averting his gaze.

"What?"

"I said get out," she repeated more firmly. She emphatically pointed toward the door as if to illustrate her point.

Under different circumstances, he might have taken the time to enjoy the situation by seeing how many of her buttons he could push at once. The sudden tightness in his pants, however, suggested he get the hell out. And fast.

He sat up on the bed and shrugged his shoulders simply before rising and slipping out the doorway, making sure to pull the curtains completely open as he did so.

She didn't sigh, curse, or throw the object nearest her hand toward him, and he took this as a particularly bad sign. When he reached the couch he turned toward the bedroom, noticing she hadn't even bothered to close the curtains.

He swallowed and continued to stare in her direction. Her back was toward him, and he noticed the almost graceful way her shoulder blades slid beneath the delicate skin of her back as she moved. Then the towel around her body dropped to the floor and pooled around her feet.

"Fuck—" he muttered, closing his eyes and turning toward the couch as quickly as he could manage. He gripped the wooden detailing on its back firmly with his hands and watched as his knuckles turned white. All right. Something was definitely wrong with Faye.

Once the blood returned to his head and he could feel his legs again, he turned toward the bedroom to see Faye, now wrapped in a sheer robe, walking toward him. She passed him without so much as glancing in his direction before she sank into the couch. He sighed and sat at the other end, making sure to stay as far from her as possible.

He placed his hands in his lap and laced his fingers together tightly. His palms felt cool and clammy, and he found that, suddenly, he had an all-consuming interest in the pattern of hair on the back of his hand. Thin, dark hair, just along the edge of his hand near his pinkie finger. And--was that mole shaped like a heart? Well, damned if it-

Faye's exasperated sigh finally prompted him to speak.

"What--" he took a moment to return from his hand-hair inspired reverie to gather his thoughts. "Fuck, Faye, what is it?"

She tilted her chin higher, tossing her head to set an errant lock of hair right. "I was hoping you'd tell me."

"Am I under suspicion, officer?"

The look she shot him wiped the smug grin from his face. "I'm not in the mood to play games tonight, Spike."

"Good. That makes two of us."

"Tell me why you did it. Why were you going through my things?"

He awkwardly attempted to avert his gaze. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." At least, that was his story for the time being.

He felt her weight shift on the couch, and he guessed she turned toward him in some bizarre attempt to stare the truth out of him. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, Faye. Really."

"Fuck you, Spike."

He swallowed and closed his eyes. Fuck. He desperately racked his brain for some kind of explanation as to why he'd been shuffling through her personal effects. Well--anything besides the truth, anyway.

Before he could respond Faye slammed something down on the coffee table. He opened his eyes and found a small, broken water globe before him. A tiny yellow bird was perched inside, and the outside of the globe--what was left of it, anyway--was decorated like a birdcage. A large piece of glass near the top of the object was missing, and an angry crack extended toward its base.

Great. He was in a hell of a lot more trouble than he initially thought. He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt very dry. "And?"

"How do you _explain_ this?" she yelled, motioning frantically toward the water globe. "I mean--is this some kind of sick joke? Do you think this is funny?"

He wanted to shake his head--shrug his shoulders--anything. Instead he stared blankly at her face.

"Answer me, goddamn it!"

"It's a water globe," he said dumbly.

Faye's scowl deepened and it was all he could do to sit still in his seat. He noticed the way her lips parted when she was angry, and the way her eyebrows arched and bristled like the back of a cornered cat. When he felt his skin prickle under her gaze he knew there was no way she'd let him get out of this one alive.

"I--it was on your dresser the night I left."

"You _stole_ this from me?" she said. Faye was the only woman he knew who could sound incredulous and accusatory and apologetic all at the same time.

"I guess that's one way of looking at it."

She dropped her head and stared into her hands, becoming uncharacteristically quiet for a few moments.

He had no idea how she'd even gotten her hands on the water globe, anyway. If he remembered correctly, he hadn't taken it out of his coat pocket since the night it was broken. Funny that she was getting bent out of shape over _him_ rifling through _her_ things.

Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, and he took this as a sign that it was safe to continue. He scratched the back of his neck and managed to say, "I'm sorry."

"Don't you get it?" she began slowly, "_This_ is all I have left! _This_ is all that remains of Faye Va--" she stopped herself and picked up the water globe. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped it, waving it angrily in his face. "_This_ and some fucking tape are all that remain of--of some woman that I am and I'm not. And all at once. Some woman whose name I don't even--"

Her eyes settled on his, all hardness and cold, and he felt something catch in his throat.

"Don't you fucking get it, Spike? Don't you--"

"No. I don't. I mean--I didn't mean to break it." It was the only thought he could muster and the time, and by the time he realized that it wasn't what she wanted to hear, the words had already slipped off his tongue.

Faye laughed--the low, bitter laugh he'd become quite accustomed to. He wanted to wince or turn away but found he couldn't.

"Oh, Spike--only you. Only you--" more laughter. She threw her head back, her dark hair catching the sunlight as it fell from her face, and he thought under different circumstances she would have looked beautiful. "Only you could take something from me that I never had in the first place. The only thing--the only thing that's left, and the only thing that is--_was_--rightly mine."

"I didn't know."

"Exactly."

_I didn't know_. He wanted to repeat the words to her until they made some sense--both to Faye, and to himself. _I didn't know. I didn't know you'd miss it. I didn't know it mattered. I didn't know what it was, just that it belonged to you. I didn't fucking know I'd hurt you. Christ, Faye, I didn't know._

She stared at the broken water globe, turning it over and over in her hands. Her thin fingers occasionally ran along the edges of the broken glass ball, and he briefly thought about taking the globe from her hands and lecturing her about broken glass and skin lacerations and emergency room visits--

"I'm sorry," he said. Well, at least that was better than, 'I didn't know.'

Faye huffed. "You're sorry? You have no idea what this means to me! Hell, I have no idea what this means to me. Did I just have some uncanny love for songbirds? Did I collect water globes, for Chrissake? What the hell is this thing supposed to mean, anyway? Why this? Why not--I don't know--a photo album? An article of clothing? I haven't the slightest clue what it means about me or my past, so don't assume that you have any idea--"

"Yeah, Faye, you're right. I have no idea. I have no idea because you've never told me. You've never told me one goddamn thing about your past, so how was I to know?"

"If I recall correctly--" she drawled dangerously, "I did tell you 'one goddamn thing' about my past. But you were too busy playing 'suicidal cowboy' to notice."

And there it was. Match point. No use fighting back now. Talk about 'not knowing.' She never missed the chance to tell him that his leaving the Bebop was just a glorified suicide mission. That he was selfish, careless--as if she fucking knew. And it wasn't as if explaining it to her would do any good, anyway.

So he shrugged, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "You're right, Faye. You gave me enough rope to hang you, and damn it if I didn't enjoy watching the show."

Her eyes softened for a moment--just a moment--and they soon returned to the narrow slits he knew and loved. The enigmatic Faye Valentine. He seemed to have a way of pushing her past hurt and straight into revenge mode. "Doesn't surprise me," she said. "You know, it was never a question of how you were going to go, but how many people you were going to take with you."

"At least one, evidently."

"No," she said, shoving the water globe into his hands. "Two."

He bit hard on his bottom lip and swallowed the words that threatened to spill past his lips. "Faye--"

"Why did you take it?" she asked. "Just tell my why you took it."

He felt a sinister smirk tug at his lips. He leaned toward her, stopping when he was just close enough to smell the scent of the cheap hotel soap in her hair. "The more rope to hang you with, my dear."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so…maybe this chapter wasn't as exciting as I promised before. Sorry. My original plans for this chapter changed, and I decided to just push the material that was supposed to appear in this chapter back a bit. Not only that, but including everything I had planned would have made for an incredibly long chapter, and it would probably also mean another month would go by before I updated…and I just couldn't do that to you lovelies. So, I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and I will really try to get the next chapter up ASAP--however, with school right around the corner, I can make no promises as to when it will be up. Sorry.**

**Lots of love,**

**Nevi**


	16. Vanity Fair

**Chapter Sixteen: **

**Vanity Fair**

_

* * *

_

You're not human, you're a miracle  
A preacher with an animal's face  
In your sexy neon smokescreen  
Lie the supersalesmen of vanity  
Even your shadow worships you  
In your jungle solitude  
With the orgies of the sacrament  
And the seal of flagellants  
God saves those who save their skin  
From the bondage that we're in  
I'm elated, I could cut you  
And remove the sheath of your ignorance  
Bless the eunuch and the Skoptsi  
Will you hurt me now and make a million?

-Mr. Bungle

* * *

Faye rose to her tip toes, her bare heels leaving the cool tile of the bathroom floor. Her lips parted, and she closely examined her lipstick in the mirror. Perfect. Wine red, just like her dress. She turned her face to the left slowly, attempting to examine her makeup from every angle. She blinked her eyes a few times, noticing the long sweep of her heavy lashes and the brightness of her eyes against the black eyeliner. A dark curl fell across her forehead, and she absently brushed it from her face with the back of her hand.

"You're not going to do that at dinner, are you? It looks like you're having a petit mal seizure."

Faye turned to find Spike in the doorway, a well-muscled arm bracing his body against the frame.

"What do you want, Spike?"

He tapped his wrist, despite the fact that he wasn't wearing a watch. "Bosch's waiting at Chez Henri. We should get going."

"You're going like that?"

Spike looked down at his suit for a moment, then back at her. He shrugged. "Yeah?"

Spike was the only person she knew that could look utterly disheveled in an Armani suit. His hair was styled (if you could call it that) in his classic shaggy mop, and his tie was draped casually around his neck. The suit, surprisingly, was perfectly tailored, yet the hard lines of his body seemed to compete with the lines of the suit.

"You look like a tramp," she said.

He gave a lopsided grin as he approached her. "Well, at least my clothes don't look like gift-wrap." Spike slipped a finger beneath one of the ribbons of fabric at her waist, giving it a slight tug."

"Stop it," she said, slapping his hand away. The absolute last thing she needed was for Spike to spend the entire night pawing at her.

"What's wrong? Afraid you're going to come unraveled?" He tugged at the fabric again.

"Something like that," she muttered.

"Are you going barefoot, too? I like the touch, but I'm not so sure they'd be eager to let you into the restaurant looking like that."

She pushed her way past him into the bedroom and began searching for her shoes. The red heels were neatly placed beside the bed, and she slipped them onto her feet quickly. She turned, finding Spike still standing in the doorway of the bathroom looking almost endearingly clueless and unkempt.

"Well?" She asked.

"My tie's undone."

Faye took the statement as an invitation and approached him again. She took the two ends of the tie into her hands more roughly than she intended. Spike lurched toward her unsteadily and his hips connected with hers.

She didn't flinch or recoil at his nearness. Instead she simply raised her eyes to his, noticing his head was lowered toward her.

He gave her a dangerous smile—the kind of smile that always seemed to leave her breathless—and murmured, "easy there, killer." His voice was low and rough and she felt his breath flutter against her neck.

She shook her head, forcing herself to return to the task at hand. "Yeah—sorry. I—sorry." She tried to steady her hands long enough to at least get his tie situated.

"Do this often?"

"What?"

"The tie thing, I mean."

"Oh—yeah. You know, Luke is horrible with these things," she said quickly.

"I can manage to dress myself, you know."

Faye laughed at that. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't know it to look at you. Your knots are always crooked."

"They are not."

"Are too."

Spike opened his mouth to respond but instead released a long sigh.

"All finished," she said, smoothing the tie over his chest with the tips of her fingers. As soon as she realized what she had done she drew her hand back and gave him a nervous smile.

"We ready now?" he asked.

"Uh—yeah. Of course."

Spike wrapped his arm around her waist as if he had been doing it for years. Perhaps it was his subtle way of extending a peace offering in light of the events the night before. Whatever it was, it wouldn't matter after tonight. Faye released an unsteady breath as he led her out of the bathroom, suddenly all too aware of the glock in her thigh holster.

* * *

Chez Henri was buzzing with idle cocktail talk by the time they had arrived. Countless Venus socialites and business tycoons filled the foyer, and the air was thick with the smell of expensive perfume and red wine. A man, dressed in what appeared to be an expensive tuxedo, stood behind a tall podium near the door. Spike turned toward the him, his hands shoved casually in his pockets. Faye sighed, raising a hand to her forehead to massage her temples. This was going to be rich. The ever-clueless Spike mingling with Venus' upper class. This could only end badly.

The host raised a bow, inspecting Spike carefully. His lips were set in a hard line, his face expressionless. "May I help you, sir?"

"We're here to see Jack Bosch. Has he arrived yet?"

The man hesitated for a moment--probably attempting to figure out what business a man like Spike would have with Jack Bosch--before stepping away from the podium. "This way," he said wryly.

Spike and Faye followed him toward a private room in the back of the restaurant, making sure to stay just out of earshot. Spike leaned toward her and she felt his breath brush by her neck. "Friendly guy. Wonder what his deal is."

"I told you you looked like a tramp."

"Or maybe he's just a stuffy bastard with a stick up his ass? Come on, everyone looks good in Armani, Faye."

"Yeah. You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

When they reached the private dining room Bosch waved at them from across the table. She heard Spike draw in a long breath and exhale slowly.

"Let me do the talking."

"What?" she spat, her voice a bit louder than she'd intended.

"I said 'let me do the talking.'"

"Yeah, I heard what you said, I just couldn't believe you'd have the gall to say it."

"Damn it, Faye, don't argue with me. I don't want you screwing things up."

"Well, well. Aren't I lucky you let me come instead of keeping me locked in the hotel room?"

"You have no idea," he muttered. "And stay close."

She had a witty retort planned--something along the lines of 'make me, you prick'--but before she could spit it out they had reached their table. Bosch stood, extending his hand across the table to Spike.

"Ah, Mr. Black. I see you brought the...ever lovely Miss Fine along with you. It's good to see you again." He stressed her name when he said it, even as he shook Spike's hand. Bosch kept his eyes on her for a moment longer than was comfortable, as if awaiting her reaction. When there wasn't one, he winked in her direction. She wondered if Spike had noticed.

"The very same, Mr. Bosch," Spike said dryly. His hand found her waist--the rare portion of it that was actually clothed--and he tightened his fingers. Oh yeah, he'd noticed.

"Ease up, Heathcliff," she hissed under her breath. "You're hurting me."

"Please, sit," Bosch said, motioning for them to take their seats.

Spike finally released her, and she made a point of glaring at him as she sat. He probably didn't notice, as he almost immediately became engaged in some inane conversation with Bosch.

Faye crossed her legs and idly traced the rim of her water glass with her finger, wholly uninterested in the conversation Spike and Bosch were having. 'Let me do the talking.' Who the hell did he think he was? A financial genius who happened to hold advanced degrees in both 'kicking ass' and 'taking names?' She wondered what, exactly, would constitute an acceptable dissertation subject when it came to the science of 'kicking ass.' Knowing Spike, he'd probably turn in 500 pages riddled with bullet holes. Or maybe he'd opt for a live demonstration of the topic at hand. Stupid Spike.

"...so we were thinking it would be easiest to divide the money between ten of M&A's subsidiaries, and that way you'd see the greatest returns. As I said, they're all privately traded companies, as we like to keep our dealings under wraps. Your funds would be, essentially, non-existent--no paper trail to speak of. And if someone were to somehow get a look at your investments, it would look as though you simply maintained a diversified portfolio..."

Faye rolled her eyes. He was kidding himself if he thought Bosch was buying all this. Spike didn't know the first thing about business, economics, or the stock market, but he still thought that watching 15 minutes of the nightly news made him an expert in the field. Knowing Spike, it didn't really surprise her.

"...in short, you could expect to see massive returns on your investments. We deal with many businessmen of your--caliber."

He'd started rambling about shareholder dividends, or some other such nonsense, and Faye noted the hopelessly bored look on Bosch's face. Oh well. It wasn't as though Spike had a chance in hell of pulling one over on Bosch, anyway. May as well let him play the game.

Bosch cleared his throat and held his hands up in mock defeat. "With all due respect, Logan--is it all right if I call you Logan?--, I didn't come here tonight to do business. I'm sold. That's why we're here tonight, isn't it?"

Spike gave him an uneasy grin, running a hand through his hair. "Just trying to clear up any loose ends, that's all."

"Understandable. Is it all right if I cut you a check?"

"Whatever works.

Bosch smirked, his eyes on Faye once again as he withdrew his checkbook from his jacket. "Who shall I make it out to?"

"Logan Black--" Spike glanced at Faye for a moment, "and Giselle Fine."

When Bosch had finished writing the check he tore it roughly from the checkbook, sliding it swiftly across the table to Spike. Spike observed the piece of paper for a moment before carefully folding it in half and slipping it into his pocket. "You won't be disappointed," Spike said.

Bosch looked toward Faye, holding her in his gaze as he said, "Believe me, Logan. I know."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the muscles in Spike's jaw tense. Something wasn't right. There was something he wasn't telling her—something he knew. It would certainly explain his short temper—well, shorter than normal, anyway—and his sudden paranoia."Giselle?"

She wondered if Bosch had noticed. What the hell did it matter if he did, anyway? She wasn't sure anymore. At least after tonight it would be all over.

And then what? Was she supposed to run back into the loving arms of Luke Kennedy? Or did she run away like she always did, now that her debt would be all but nonexistent?

Faye tuned back into reality, turning to face Spike who, for some reason, was glaring at her as though she'd just taken his last cigarette. "Hmm?"

"Aren't you going to order?" he said tersely.

"...Of course," she said, turning to find a well-dressed waiter at her side. She gave him a weak smile. He didn't smile back.

"Your order, miss?"

"Just a small salad with a spritz of lemon--thanks."

Spike shot her another look--for what, she wasn't sure--and she decided to ignore him, taking her napkin from the table and folding it idly in her lap. This place reminded her of somewhere Luke would take her--somewhere the new and improved Faye Kennedy would frequent every week, mingling with the solar system's rich and famous. Instead, she felt out of place--awkward.

It was probably Spike, she decided. Lord knew you couldn't take the boy anywhere without getting cold stares or a civil suit thrown at you--or both. And you could never rule out the possibility that he'd take out half the building with a few strategically thrown hand grenades. Really, you just never knew.

She should have been ecstatic that Luke had rescued her from her former self--from Spike. What would she have to look forward to in that life, anyway? Friday nights on the couch with the mutt and a bowl of Jet's bell peppers and beef? The familiar war that raged between her and Spike over liquor, cigarettes, and the TV guide? Would she have to look forward to the same arguments? Squabbles over who ate the last taquito, or who used all the hot water...who knew the least about Leondardo DiCaprio? Well, the last one was a one time thing, but still.

With Luke she'd have parties to look forward to--summers in the Martian countryside. A life of leisure and comfort. Maybe not complete and utter happiness, but she'd learned to settle for less than perfect a long time ago, anyway.

She looked to Spike again, suddenly interested in watching him. His elbows were resting on the table, bunching the dark silk tablecloth, and his strong chin was propped up with his right fist. He drummed against the table top with the fingers of his other hand, and for a moment she almost found his utter cluelessness cute--almost.

It reminded her of the night she found him sitting on the couch alone in the dark, a half-empty bottle of scotch at his side and the light from the muted vid screet flickering over his smooth skin. It was the night before he left to fight Vicious--the night Julia had died. It reminded her of the last case they went on together, and of the way he'd look at her before saying something uncharacteristically serious. It reminded her of many things--things she hadn't realized she'd come to miss.

"How's the view, space cadet?" Spike whispered.

"Huh?"

Faye looked up, her eyes meeting with Bosch's once again. He folded his hands on top of the table and leaned forward. "I asked about the Hotel Pergolese, Miss Fine. I take it the accommodations are more than suitable?"

"Of course," she said--though what she meant was 'How the hell do you know we're at the Pergoloese?' Luke, she presumed, though she couldn't readily determine why Luke would disclose such information to Bosch. Maybe to assure she'd finish the job by tonight? She was surprised Spike hadn't noticed the slip; if he had, she assumed he would have grabbed her by the wrist and bolted from the restaurant, paranoid basket-case that he was. Not that he didn't have good reason to be paranoid.

"I've heard their--" Bosch was interrupted by the shrill ring of his comm. He withdrew it from his pocket, glancing for a moment at its face before slipping it back into his jacket. "Unfortunately, I have to be on my way--business, you know."

"Right. We'll be in touch soon," Spike said.

The corners of Bosch's mouth turned upward into the characteristic half-smirk Faye had come to loathe. "I'm sure. Good evening Mr. Black--Miss Fine." He gave her a curt nod before making his way toward the front of the restaurant.

Faye drew in an unsteady breath and picked the napkin up from her lap once again, turning it over in her hands and forming sharp creases in the fabric with her fingertips.

"Faye?" Spike placed his hand on her thigh and she jumped.

"Spike--" his name escaped her lips sounding like something between a sigh and a statement. A promise she couldn't keep. It felt foreign on her tongue--as if she hadn't spoken it in years. "I--please excuse me."

She tossed her napkin onto the table, hoping it wasn't too obvious that she was leaving in hot pursuit of Bosch. She knew he'd be waiting for her. After all, he'd need information on the accounts Spike and Jet had opened.

* * *

Spike watched as Faye stood to leave the table, noticing that she was moving with an urgency normally reserved for the floor of a casino. She'd hardly said a word all night--no thanks to him, he supposed--but knowing Faye, silence always meant trouble. He craned his neck, hoping to see her in the distance somewhere. Instead, he found she had vanished into the crowd. Which was surprising, given the outfit she was wearing--and the fact that Faye Valentine never had the ability to simply vanish into a crowd.

He wasn't sure for how long she'd been gone. A minute? Five? Ten? It was hard to concentrate, given the circumstances. He couldn't rule out the possibility that Bosch wanted Faye dead, for whatever reason. She did seem to provide plenty to every person she'd ever met.

He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, swearing when he realized he wasn't wearing a watch. He rose quickly from his chair, heading in the direction he last saw Faye.

It didn't take long to find her--she couldn't have been more than twenty feet from their table, but she was standing in a small alcove near the restrooms. Her back was against the wall, and Bosch stood in front of her.

Spike crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to hurl himself at her, dragging her kicking and screaming from the restaurant. He watched as she withdrew something from the breast of her gown--classy move, Faye--and handed it to Bosch, who quickly slipped the item into his pocket. Then Bosch moved toward her--maybe with malicious intent, or maybe he was just unsteady on his feet--hell, Spike didn't care anymore. Suddenly kicking and screaming didn't sound like such a bad plan after all.

"Giselle!" he shouted over the idle chatter filling the restaurant, raising his hand as he moved toward her so that she might spot him in the crowd. She did. And he was reminded of her wedding night--the look she shot him after seeing him for the first time in a year and a half. Annoyance, contempt--relief?

He didn't stop. He shoved past faceless socialites, past wait staff and stuffy business men, and called her name again. And again.

When he reached her he forced a smile, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist.

"Giselle--we have to leave. Now."

"Logan, can't you see that I am busy right now?" Her teeth were clenched, and she raised her eyebrows suggesting she might kill him at the soonest opportunity if he didn't back off. Yeah, like he hadn't seen that look a million times before.

"Right. Well, its a--an emergency. It's been a pleasure, Mr. Bosch."

He pulled Faye tighter against him, moving as quickly as he could manage with Faye practically stumbling over his feet. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I told you to leave everything to me," he said. When they'd finally reached the front of the restaurant he nearly barreled through the doors.

"That's interesting, Spike. Because, you know, last time I checked this wasn't a one-man show, it was a partnership."

"Oh, bullshit." Which, on second thought, wasn't exactly what he meant, and certainly wasn't the smartest thing to say.

"Get the hell off me--" she said, immediately wrestling from his grasp, her dress flourishing around her hips as she did so. It was a hot, wet night, and steam rose from the warm asphalt of the street and the concrete of the sidewalk, the mist blurring her form, the humidity mussing her hair. She really did look magnificent when she was angry.

She was breathing heavily from the struggle, her chest rising and falling as she grasped for air. "For fuck's sake, Spike--" she said breathlessly, brushing her hair from her forehead. She watched him for a moment before shaking her head and turning away from him, walking quickly down the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my hotel room."

"Faye--wait for me--"

"I said _I _was going to the hotel. You can go fuck yourself."

"Right, but--you know, I'd prefer to do so in the privacy of my own bathroom."

"Fine. I'll be packing my things. I agreed to help you pull of your little con, and I did. And since I have no further obligations toward you, I'll get the hell out of your hair and you and Jet can be on your own again. Which is what you really wanted, right?"

"Damn it, Faye--"

"It won't take long. I'll be gone within the hour.

"Faye, stop--"

She held up her hand--he guessed as a signal for him to shut up--and began to walk faster, disappearing into the evening Venus fog.

* * *

**A/N: So, here I am, back from the dead. It's been a crazy time, school and all that, and I haven't had much of an opportunity to write. For that, I apologize, dear readers. But the good news is that with break ahead, I should have enough time to actually get some REAL work done. I know. That sounds pathetic, doesn't it? Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! And if you didn't, you can tell me all about it in a nasty review! And if you did enjoy it...you can tell me about that in a review as well. Seriously, I'm desperate.**

**Till next time, **

**Nevi**


	17. Break the Spell

**Chapter Seventeen:**

**Break the Spell**

* * *

_In the winter when the cold comes  
And the wind blows with a scornful spite  
And the hard ground feels barren  
And the forest is deathly quiet  
And the whole world lies sleeping  
There's a gypsy all dressed in white  
Put my hand out, ask the question  
Here's the silver, do you have the gift of sight?_

_Can you break the spell?  
Can you ring the bell?  
Can you break the spell?  
It's cold black as night  
I've got a hard heart  
Since we've been apart  
Can you break the spell?  
Break it all down tonight._

-Rolling Stones

* * *

Spike stood with his back against the door to their hotel room, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He let out a long sigh, looking toward the elevator at the end of the hall expectantly. He had managed to beat Faye back to their room--though, through no choice of his own, really. The minute they entered the hotel Faye made a beeline for the elevator, making a show of closing the doors just seconds before he reached her. So, bolting up the stairs was really the only shot he had of heading her off before she reached the room.

Then the elevator doors opened, revealing Faye in all her magnificent fury. He couldn't help but smirk, watching as she stepped quickly into the hallway, her gown trailing behind her in long ribbons as she moved.

"You're lucky I'm here," he said. "I've got the key to the room." He held it up between his middle and index fingers as if to illustrate the point. When Faye reached him she snatched the card from his hand, inserting it roughly into the lock. She pulled the door open slightly--just far enough that she could slip through--and attempted to close it before he could make his way into the room.

Spike grasped the door quickly with his right hand, forcing it open as he stepped inside. Faye had already begun moving away from him--apparently accepting the fact that getting him to leave was a lost cause--and made a point of standing with her back toward him. He closed the door softly and ensured that it was locked before he started toward her.

"Faye, listen--"

"What the hell was that?" she asked, turning to face him.

"What the hell was what?"

"Back at the restaurant! You dragged me away from Bosch like I was a fucking child."

"Geez, Faye, calm down--"

"Calm down? How dare you tell me to calm down! You and Jet have put me through a lot of shit, Spike, but never before have you made me feel like I didn't deserve to work on a case with you--like I was just some dumb broad along for the ride. You never made a secret of the fact that you didn't want me around but--Jesus. If this is how you planned on taking out Bosch, why the hell did you spend all that time tracking me down? Why did you practically beg me to come along with you--as if I were going to be your--your goddamned sherpa?"

"I told you we couldn't do it alone. We needed another person."

"You mean a piece of meat? Someone to play the little woman to your macho man? To say all the right things and swoon on cue so that you could prove what a big hero you are?" Faye huffed, an incredulous smile forming over her face. "That's really what you think, isn't it? That I'm your little sidekick? That you're superman and I'm Lois fucking Lane?"

"Come on, Faye--"

"I can't believe that's what this whole thing has been about. Or maybe I can, because that's _always_ what its been about. And any time I've tried to do anything myself, any time I've gone it alone--"

"Any time you've gone it alone you would've ended up dead if it weren't for me." The words came out more forcefully than he intended, and he swore he saw Faye recoil from the blow.

She took a moment to compose herself before continuing. "Yeah, that's rich, Spike. It just proves what an egotistical bastard you are."

"Oh, really? I can recall a few times that you would've ended up in a gutter somewhere if I hadn't saved your ass. How about your first run-in with Vicious? Or the time you ran off to join a fucking cult? A cult, Faye--"

"And there you go again! Spike Speigel, always around to play the hero."

"The hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that the only time you've ever shown up to _'save my ass'_--" she said as sarcastically as she could manage, "was when you had a vested interest in finding me. Whether dead or alive--it was always about a bounty I was after that you wanted. Or money I stole. Or a score you had to settle. Or a fucking _vendetta_ that you just couldn't let die. So don't try to tell me that you were really coming after me because you couldn't bear to see me get hurt. Get fucking real, Spike."

"That's not fair and you know it."

"It's not fair? Since when did you become the pillar of morality? You know you're only saying that because you can't think of a single time you actually gave a damn about what happened to me. Because god forbid you do a single unselfish thing in your miserable--"

"I thought Bosch was going to kill you tonight."

Faye stood in silence for a brief moment--a very brief moment--before bursting into hysterics.

"You thought Bosch was going to _kill_ me? What are you, insane? What on earth would give you that idea?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Uh huh. You know, this is low, Spike. Even for you. It's one thing to be utterly indifferent about the lives of your comrades, but to make shit up just to win a stupid fight is like a whole other level."

"Edward ran a trace on his phone. We heard it all last night."

"Ed? Right. So, who was he talking to?"

"I don't know. Reception was bad."

Faye crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not completely hopeless, Spike. I had my gun on me. And you know damn well that I know how to use it."

He let his eyes roam slowly over her body, not even attempting to make a secret of the fact that he was trying to figure out where the hell she'd even keep a subcompact.

"Imagine little Miss Valentine packing heat in a dress like that." Really, he couldn't believe it.

Faye cracked a dangerous smile, her tongue peeking out from her mouth to trace the contours of her upper lip, and Spike prayed to whatever gods might exist that the move was wholly unintentional. "What's the matter? That get you hot?"

God, yes.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Cute."

Faye regarded him for a moment longer before turning toward the bedroom, as if suddenly remembering that they were in the middle of a fight and she had a part to play. "I'm going to pack my things," she said.

Spike shook his head, running a hand through his tangled hair as he followed after her.

"Don't go."

She was gathering her clothes from the floor, tossing them haphazardly into her suitcase. "What?" she asked.

"I said don't go."

"Why does it matter to you?"

"I just--fuck, Faye, don't go."

She turned to face him, her hands placed obstinately on her hips. "You have thirty seconds to convince me."

"You're not even wearing a watch."

"Tick. Tock." She emphasised the words with the sway of her hips as she advanced toward him.

"I was telling you the truth. Bosch is up to something. And he wants _you_."

She didn't stop--just kept walking toward him slowly, that all-too-familiar predatory look in her eye.

"You know, when I said 'you have thirty seconds to convince me,' I was implying that you use a more effective appeal."

"Like what?" He took a step backward instinctively.

Fuck.

Don't let her intimidate you. It's Faye, for godsake.

"Like the truth."

"I told you--that was the truth."

"I don't believe you."

Two steps in front of him. One more step back couldn't hurt.

"Evidently." The word escaped his lungs just as his back connected with the wall. God fucking damn it.

"Ten seconds. Give me another reason."

"I--fuck--"

"Five seconds."

"I don't have one."

She waited for a moment, as if she were literally waiting for the seconds to fall off the clock.

3, 2, 1--

"You're out of time, cowboy. And evidently out of reasons."

She moved to take a step back, but before the smug smile could spread across her face, he pulled her roughly against his body.

"Then stay with me because I have none."

Faye's eyes widened.

And it was then that he realized he'd been rock hard for at least the last five minutes, and he presently had Faye's hips pressed hard against his own. Suddenly the situation seemed painfully familiar.

She grasped his tie firmly in her small hands and he winced, recalling exactly what happened the last time he found himself in this position. She jerked the tie--hard--and he didn't resist as his body gave way, bending effortlessly toward hers.

For a moment he felt her breath on his skin, and he tried hold the memory in his mind long enough to block out the pain that was sure to ensue as her fist connected with his jaw.

Then her free hand moved to his neck, and her fingers lingered momentarily over the sensitive skin at the nape before tangling in his hair as she pressed her lips hard against his.

* * *

Spike moaned helplessly against her mouth as she pressed her lips full against his own, and it was all he could do to let his large hands find the small of her back as he deepened the kiss. He traced the curve of her lower lip with the tip of his tongue before grazing it with his teeth and drawing it into his mouth.

Faye shifted in his arms and moved her hands from his hair to his neck, letting her fingernails delicately graze his skin as she did so. He suppressed a shudder and, in one smooth motion, turned to pin her between his body and the wall. She sighed, arching her back and tilting her head against the wall as she moved her hips against him.

"Christ, Faye--" he groaned. He felt a warm aching in his groin, and he pulled her closer to him desperately. Faye rolled her center against his erection once again and he braced a strong arm against the wall to keep from falling.

"Faye, please--"

"Please what?"

"I'm so fucking hard it hurts."

She made a small sound in the back of her throat--a soft, self-satisfied sort of moan--as she arched her body against his once more. He noted the way the light and shadow played over her skin as she moved against him, and he closed his mouth over hers, his kiss urgent and insistent. He parted her lips with his tongue and she responded by nipping at it with her teeth.

Spike squeezed his eyes closed tightly as another moan threatened to tear from his lips. She was going to fucking kill him. Literally, he supposed. Though, all things considered, it wasn't such a bad way to go.

Faye had pressed her palms flat against his chest, pushing him just far enough away that his lips left hers and she could begin loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. Spike reached for her once again, cradling her small face in his hands. He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks, relishing the way her skin felt so soft beneath his calloused fingertips, before bringing his lips to hers.

His mouth moved slowly over her own--almost painfully slowly--and he attempted to memorize the way she tasted--the way she smelled. Smooth vanilla. A hint of lavender. Ostensibly Faye.

* * *

Faye had managed to make short work of his shirt despite being simultaneously good and thoroughly kissed. She trailed her fingertips over his well-muscled chest for a moment, then returned them to his tousled hair.

Spike shrugged the shirt from his shoulders before finally breaking the kiss, bringing his forehead to rest against hers.

"Spike--"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she was having trouble catching her breath. His strong hands were placed behind her head, his long fingers woven through her hair.

Well, Spike _what_? She was suddenly at a loss for words. It wasn't supposed to be happening like this.

Spike's forehead was still pressed against hers, and she could feel his hardness pushing insistently against her belly. She closed her eyes.

He was supposed to be gone by now--eliminated. Out of her life completely, one way or another. Instead his hands were on her body--his tongue in her mouth, his scent on her skin. And damned if there wasn't a single thing she could do about it.

"Faye--the bed--"

The bed. Her head was spinning. She was about to go to bed with Spike Spiegel. _Spike Spiegel_.

She wasn't sure how she'd ended up beneath him--how she'd ended up engulfed in satin pillows and sheets, or how her hands had ended up tangled in his hair again, but she knew she had to get a grip.

_Get a grip, Faye._

Before he could move to kiss her again she reached for her gun, withdrawing it quickly from its holster and pressing it hard against his chest.

"Don't fucking move, Spike." Her voice was unsteady, and she felt the gun trembling in her hands.

His mouth fell open slightly and he took deep, uneven breaths, his chest rising and falling against the end of her glock. If she concentrated she could feel his steady heartbeat pulsing through the synthetic steel of the shaft, the metal absolutely humming with the sound of him.

Spike's lips were swollen from the constant contact, his hair mussed and tangled from raking her fingers through it, and she thought he looked absolutely incredible staring down the barrel of a gun. Her gun.

"Are you going to shoot me?" he asked, his voice still low and breathless. There was no sarcastic lilt there--no gentle teasing. It was a genuine question.

"I said don't fucking move."

"Faye--"

"Did you think I'd just forget? That I'd--fuck--that you'd get away with it?"

He focused his eyes intently on hers--really focused, and for the first time-- He was looking directly at her, the far-away, distant look he often gave her replaced with something frighteningly intimate. She squeezed her eyes closed and turned her head to the side.

"Don't shoot," he said. "Faye?"

"Shut up. Just--damn it."

"Faye--" he said again, reaching for her face. She felt a stinging in her eyes as his palm came to rest against her cheek, and she instinctively turned toward his warmth.

"You're such a fucking bastard, Spike." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her throat ached from the effort of keeping the words steady and even. "Fucking bastard--"

He pressed his lips softly against hers again, taking her hand in his and guiding the gun away from his chest. Faye released her fingers, letting the glock drop softly against the carpeted floor.

He smoothed her tears away with the side of his thumb, and she immediately pulled him hard against her, kissing him so forcefully it almost hurt. She arched her body against him, making a point of grinding her hips against his.

Spike moaned, his mouth falling open to form an 'O.'

"Faye--"

"Tell me you need me," she said, her fingernails dragging over his back.

A low growl escaped his lips and his breathing became ragged.

"I need you," he gasped.

"Say it again."

"Oh, Fuck. Faye--Faye, I need you."

With that she wrestled out from beneath him, turning in one smooth motion to pin him forcefully against the bed as she straddled him. She moved her hips in a circle over his--deliberately, mercilessly--as she leaned forward to run her tongue along the curve of his neck. She made her way down his body, stopping when she reached his left nipple. Faye flicked her tongue over the hardened nub softly at first before taking it between her teeth, sucking hard.

"Fucking _Christ_--easy--"

"Shut up."

Spike said something under his breath that was soon lost in a tortured moan. He placed his hands on her hips, squeezing tightly as he surrendered to her assault of his body.

Faye set to work on his belt, her hands trembling slightly as she did so. Spike moved his hands to her exposed thighs, easing his fingers beneath the fabric of her gown. He pushed it over her body slowly, letting his hands linger over her soft skin. In an instant the dress was over her head, and she tossed it absently to the floor, still pulling at his leather belt and fiddling with the buttons on his trousers.

As soon as she had finished, Spike shimmied out of his pants as best he could manage with Faye still positioned squarely on top of him. His shorts soon followed, and he was quick to hook his thumbs beneath the strings of her panties, sliding them swiftly over her hips.

Faye glared at him, grabbing at his wrists and pinning them against the bed.

"You're pushing your luck, Spiegel."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Am I?"

She lowered her hips over his, letting her slick folds just barely graze his hard flesh. He cursed, arching his back off the bed and bucking his hips desperately against hers.

"Jesus--don't--"

"Don't what?"

"You're gonna make me--"

Before he could finish his sentence she took him inside her, moving as slowly as she could manage and making sure to take him only halfway.

He squeezed his eyes closed tightly and raised his hips, desperate for her to take his entire length.

Faye, on the other hand, appeared to be in no hurry. Her head was tossed back, her thick hair cascading over her shoulders, just barely framing her full breasts. She appeared to be completely lost in her own world, concentrating solely on her pleasure. The thought caused him to throb painfully inside her. It wasn't often--or ever--that he was the one being used as a sex object.

Faye still hadn't moved past his head, and she had started thrusting more quickly. If she didn't stop soon he was sure he was going to lose it.

"Christ--Faye--take it all--"

She didn't respond or give any other indication that she'd heard him--or that she cared. She just gave a low moan, her nails digging into the flesh of his wrists as she increased her pace.

Desperately he twisted his wrists from her grasp, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her down hard over his length. Her hips connected with his and he moved his pelvis in deliciously slow circles.

"Spike, don't stop...don't--"

He reached for her, unable to resist the temptation to claim her lips with his once again. His hands tangled in her hair, and with one final thrust she was moaning piteously against his mouth, her fingers clawing at his shoulders--his arms--anything to keep her grounded.

The woman was going to be the death of him--that much he knew for sure. He called her name one last time before surrendering to her completely, wrapping his arms securely around her back and hugging her tight against his chest.

* * *

**A/N: Mm kay. There you have it. I hope you're all happy now. If you're not...too bad. This was probably the hardest chapter I have written yet, and I'm not exactly sure if I'm happy with it. However, I can only read over it so many times and, frankly, I'm sick of looking at it. So if you have any helpful comments or suggestions, I'd love to hear them!**

**Also, thank you to all my loyal readers/reviewers. You guys make the trouble worthwhile.**

**Till next time, lovelies!**

**-Nevi**


	18. Under the Gun

**Chapter Eighteen:**

**Under the Gun

* * *

  
**

_She's got her halo and wings  
Hidden under his eyes  
But she's an angel for sure  
She just can't stop telling lies  
But it's too late for his love  
Already caught in a trap  
His angel's kiss was a joke  
And she is not coming back_

-The Killers

_

* * *

  
_

Faye opened her eyes slowly, taking a deep breath as she arched her back off the bed.

Spike was already gone. Truth be told, she half expected to wake up pinned between the bed and his well-muscled chest. Suddenly she was thankful she hadn't.

She sighed, flinging her legs over the side of the bed and picking up her black silk robe from the floor. She tied the sash loosely around her waist, and, for a moment, she wondered whether wearing such a thing around Spike was really appropriate. Given the events of the previous night she supposed nothing was really off limits anymore.

She sauntered into the living room, pausing mid-step when she found spike standing near the window, a cup of black coffee in hand. He was wearing his pants from the night before, and she didn't fail to notice the smooth, bare skin of his back. Faye looked down at the carpet quickly and studied it intensely as if it held all the secrets of the universe—or at least a sure-fire way to win at Blackjack.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Yo."

Spike stood with his back toward her, every so often taking a sip of his coffee. He slipped a hand into his pocket—fishing around for a cigarette, she supposed—and grunted when he found none.

So they were playing this game again. Fan-fucking-tastic. Faye Kennedy versus the King of Silence.

"I wanted to apologize for—about last night," she said.

"Don't mention it."

Don't mention it? That wasn't exactly the response she was looking for. They'd both been through some pretty fucked-up shit before, and she'd never been especially surprised when Spike dealt with it by shutting everyone and everything out of his mind. But she'd expected a little more of a reaction after nearly killing him.

Faye cleared her throat. "I mean—you know—about the gun thing. Not—"

"Yeah. I got it."

She flinched. "That's it? You 'got it?'"

"The fuck do you want me to say?"

The power of the words didn't match the tone of his voice. It was low and calm and rough with the sound of cigarettes and sleepless nights. It caught her off guard.

"I don't know," she said. "Anything."

"Faye—"

She felt a shudder course through her body. Just like that. He'd said her name just like that the night before. The best response she could muster was a soft hum in the back of her throat.

"Faye I—I said don't worry about it."

And just like that it was gone. Any softness she thought she heard in his voice was replaced with steely indifference. She was beginning to wonder if he had a switch he could flip when he needed to switch modes from "remotely human" to "insufferable slack-ass." If he did, she certainly didn't find it last night.

"What do you mean don't worry about it? I could have _killed_ you—"

He laughed. "Yeah. Right."

"You don't think I could have pulled the trigger?"

"Oh, no. I think you could have pulled the trigger, all right. I just think you'd have a hell of a time killing me without any bullets."

"What?" She blinked, desperately hoping for a moment that Spike was just prone to waxing poetic before 10 A.M. It could happen.

"Your gun wasn't loaded. I switched the clips."

She balled her fists at her sides. "Excuse me?"

"How many times do I have to say it? Your. Gun. Wasn't. Loaded."

"How could you--?" she took a breath, closing her eyes and attempting to steady herself. When she opened them again she found herself still staring at the back of Spike's head. "You switched the clips—" she said incredulously. She paused for a moment, biting down hard on her bottom lip. "You _switched the clips_ even though you were convinced Bosch was out to kill me?"

His only response was a long exhaled breath.

"So what if he'd tried? How would I have defended myself?"

"I told you to stay with me."

"Cut the macho bullshit, Spike. It's a pretty sorry excuse for stabbing me in the back."

She watched as the muscles of his back tensed beneath hi s skin.

"Yeah. About that—" Spike turned toward her finally, pulling his Jericho from the waistband of his pants. _The_ Jericho. He must have come across it in her suitcase. Fuck.

His long fingers tightened around the handgrip and she heard the leather creak in response. "Start talking."

Faye closed her eyes. "It's not what it looks like—"

"Oh? Because it looks like there's something about the new-and-improved Faye Kennedy that you're not telling me. What it _looks like_ is you were either traipsing through Red Dragon headquarters after the coup and happened upon it, or— "

"Okay—fine. It's exactly what it looks like—Spike, please."

"Where'd you get the gun?" The sentence was punctuated by the sound of metal on metal. He'd removed the safety and raised the barrel to her chest. "—Who are you working for?"

"Who do you think?"

His jaw tensed. "And Luke. He's—he took over? You married a fucking _Dragon_?"

"I—yeah. Yes, I did, all right?"

"Christ." He ran his free hand through his hair, lowering the gun to his side as he did so.

"Spike, I'm sorry—"

"You're sorry? Do you realize what I went through to get these guys off my back? To—fuck!" He slammed the gun on the table and the sound made her jump. "And you sold me out—" a statement, not a question—" The fuck happened, Faye? The dragons put a hit out on me and you're the first to volunteer? And you were—what? You were going to murder me with _my own fucking gun_?" he shouted the last words, and she closed her eyes.

"Yeah. That was the plan."

"What did they offer you, Faye?" He leaned forward, his strong hands gripping the edge of the table that separated them. " Money? Did they take that nasty bounty off your head in exchange for me?" His voice was low again—sinister, and yet desperately demanding.

"Are you really that fucking stupid, Spike? This isn't about money."

"Then what is it about?"

"You mean you haven't figured it out by now?"

Spike shrugged and reached into his pocket, searching for a cigarette he knew wasn't there. "Took me this long to figure out you were a snake. Or—Dragon, I guess. I'm surprised you think I'm really all that goddamned bright."

"Forget about it," she said. "I'm leaving." She turned to leave the room and was surprised when she heard Spike's voice rise over the sound of her own footfalls.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked.

"Why do you care? You want to hunt me down and finish me off yourself?"

"Be easier to do it here," he said.

She turned to shoot him a glare.

"Just saying." A pause. " And don't think for a second I don't want to."

She held his gaze a moment longer than was comfortable before swallowing hard. "I'm going back to Luke. Tell him to take care of his own business from now on."

Spike laughed at that—a low, condescending chuckle she'd come to know well—and she fought the urge to backhand him.

"What's so funny?"

"If you think you can just walk away right now you have another thing coming."

She placed a hand on her hip and waited for him to continue.

"He'll kill you, Faye."

"He's my husband."

"Damn it—he's not your husband. He's your fucking pimp. Don't you get it?"

Faye kept her eyes on the floor. She drew in a deep breath, her chest rising heavily. "He isn't Vicious, Spike." She waited for a moment before raising her eyes and staring directly through his. "And I'm not Julia."

Spike attempted a shrug of his shoulders, a wry grin playing at his lips. "You're right," he said. He paused for a moment before finally breaking into a smile. "You're right."

Faye didn't know what he was driving at, but she did know him well enough to suspect he wasn't finished.

"No, no—you're right, Faye. He's not Vicious." He began walking toward her, and she felt her fingers curl into a fist. He was doing it again—the same thing he always did when he was angry and running out of options.

"_I loved you but I couldn't let you know it. You're so brutal to those who love you, Scarlett. You take their love and hold it over their heads like a whip."_

The words flashed through her mind quickly and clearly. A book she'd read when she was young. One she'd loved. A book that didn't end as fairy tales did with kisses and a happy ending, but with tears and a journey.

And she realized that's what he'd done ever since she'd known him—really known him. Brandished her feelings for him against her like a weapon he knew better than any other.

"Don't come any closer," she said.

To her surprise he stopped, jamming his hands into his pockets once again. "Just answer one thing for me, then. If that's true—if he's not Vicious—then why are you so goddamned afraid of him?"

She laughed. "I'm _not_ afraid of him."

"Bullshit. I can see it in your eyes every time you talk about him—every time his name is mentioned. And when you think about him—when you're wondering what he'll do when he realizes just how badly you've fucked him over—" He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he looked to the floor. "Your—fuck. Your _eyes_, Faye—they way they lose focus and glaze over like painted glass. You look like a goddamned porcelain doll. You fucking look just like her--" He didn't say her name. Not that he had to, anyway. He sighed, closing his eyes and cursing under his breath.

"Is that what this is about? You just have a hard-on for broken women, Spike?"

When he didn't respond she smirked, placing a hand on her hip. "Sorry. I was out of line there. I forgot the breaking is the part _you_ like to do."

Spike clenched his jaw and the corners of his mouth fell. "Get the fuck out," he said lowly, "and don't ever come back."

"Read my mind," Faye muttered, turning to pack her things.

He cocked the gun and raised it to her back. "Now. "

She tensed and hoped the sound of her voice wouldn't betray her emotions. "Or?"

"Or I swear to god I'll blow you across the room."

She turned, a smile crossing her lips as she raised her hands in mock surrender. "Sure, Spike. Whatever you say."

In a matter of seconds she had reached the door, pausing for a moment before grasping the handle and slamming it behind her.

* * *

A/N: So there you have it. I'm sorry this is a short one, but this felt like a good stopping point. I'll try not to go so long without updating again, but I make no promises. Thanks again to everyone who reads and reviews...you really do make my day.

P.S. - The quote is from the novel version of Gone with the Wind. It is one of my favorite quotes ever, and I am quite proud that I managed to work it into a fic. I know. My dreams are ridiculous and sad.

Love,

Nevi


	19. Left and Leaving

**Chapter Nineteen:**

**Left and Leaving

* * *

**

_I'm back with scars to show.  
Back with the streets I know  
Will never take me anywhere but here.  
The stain in the carpet, this drink in my hand,  
the strangers whose faces I know.  
We meet here for our dress-rehearsal to say: "I wanted it this way."  
Wait for the year to drown.  
Spring forward, fall back down.  
I'm trying not to wonder where you are._

-The Weakerthans

* * *

Sound. Too much sound. The whirring of the ship's engines, the hiss of recycled air circulating throughout the halls. Spike winced as he heard the sound of his own footfalls echoing off the walls of the Bebop. A symphony for his homecoming. Fitting.

He entered the common room, and Jet looked up from where he was sitting, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Back already?" he asked.

Spike withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and placed it gently between his lips as he descended the stairs into the room. "Stupid fucking question, Jet."

He grunted. "Okay, _why_ are you back already?"

"You should probably sit down," he said.

"I am sitting down."

"I know, but I figured—I figured I ought to say so anyway. I think it's obligatory when you're bearing bad news."

"Enough with the bullshit, Spike. What's going on?"

Spike gracelessly plopped down on the yellow couch across from Jet and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. "Woman's gone," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"Then go find her."

Spike shook his head with more force than he meant to. "I told you not to trust her, Jet. I _knew_ she'd go and pull something like this. I knew it…"

"Knew what, exactly?"

"Nothing." He paused long enough to take another drag off his cigarette. "And _everything_."

Jet sighed and leaned back in his chair. "For Chrissake, don't tell me you're drunk, Spike. It's ten thirty in the morning."

"Okay, I won't tell you."

Jet mopped his face with his good hand and closed his eyes. "Lay it on me. What'd she do this time? Make off with all the cash?"

Spike gave a graceless laugh, the cigarette falling from between his fingers and landing on the dirty yellow couch cushion beside him.

"Watch it!" Jet barked.

Spike shrugged dismissively as he picked up the half-spent cigarette. He ran his hand over the scorch mark it left in the upholstery. "If only it were that simple," he said. "Apparently our little Valentine has moved past bounty hunting and has started working as a contract killer."

Jet crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Spike to continue.

"That husband of hers—Luke Kennedy? Apparently he took control of the Dragons after Vicious checked out."

Jet closed his eyes and ran a hand over his bald head. "Kennedy sent her for you. Tying up loose ends," he said plainly.

"Yeah."

Jet just shook his head and stood, making his way toward the kitchen. "Knowing that I'm surprised she didn't pick you off the first chance she got." He froze as soon as he finished the sentence. "So—why didn't she?"

Spike hesitated for a moment, licking his lips. "She wants me, Jet. You know that."

Jet grunted in response. "Yeah, right. What aren't you telling me, Spike?"

Spike just dragged the heel of his boot over the edge of the coffee table, eliciting another grunt from Jet. Ignoring him, he continued two more times before taking a breath. "Fuck if I know."

Jet stalked back to the chair, and it gave a groan as he lowered himself into it.

Spike didn't dare look up. He knew that if he did he'd find himself looking square into Jet's disapproving gaze. He hated that look. And he seemed to be getting a lot of it lately. "I said 'fuck if I know,'" he repeated tersely. "That means you aren't getting any further answers, so stop looking at me like that."

Jet raised his hands in mock surrender and redirected his gaze. "You're right. None of my business," he conceded.

"Damn straight."

"It's just—"

Spike closed his eyes and exhaled. He realized he was being baited; he realized, also, that he was just drunk enough to fall for it. "It's just _what_, Jet?"

"No. Forget it."

"Don't play this game with me. If you have something to say, fucking say it."

He took a breath. "I don't think she—"

"That is _such_ bullshit!" Spike shouted. In an instant he was on his feet, punctuating his sentence by throwing his lighter down on the coffee table. His head spun, and he felt the ground tilt beneath him. "It was all her fault. It was her fucking fault. Whatever she told you, it was a lie."

Jet's eyebrows were raised, his mouth slightly agape. Spike was suddenly struck with the realization that he'd either said something incredibly stupid or something incredibly brilliant, but he was too drunk to know which. Jet just pursed his lips together and swallowed. "What?"

"What?"

"Sit down."

For once Spike did as he was told. He crossed his long legs in front of him and leaned back into the couch cushions. "She was willing, Jet. Swear to God. And I—look: I don't think she was wearing any…" he paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Not that I was paying her that much attention."

"Spike—"

"And on top of that—I mean, no pun intended, right?—on top of that, she gives me all this bullshit about comrades and betrayal and smoking all my cigarettes."

"Spike—" Jet attempted again.

"—which I still don't understand. Like that's an explanation for—fuck, I don't know. For leaving you like she did. For wanting to kill me. She said it all like she wanted a fucking apology, Jet. I did what I had to do; I had my fucking reasons. But she just won't let that shit go. So I'm supposed to feel bad that she's spent the past two years living as a shell of a human being. Or something. However that goes. Which is not my fucking fault, by the way. "

"Spike," he said evenly. "Stop. Talking."

"And don't think for one second that she ever asked about my reasons. About my feelings."

Jet scratched his eyebrow idly. "Your feelings?"

Spike's features twisted in disgust upon hearing those words, as if he hadn't uttered them just seconds before. "Jesus, Jet, I'm just getting some shit off my chest, here. You don't have to go and fem it up."

A wry smirk crept over his lips. "You're right; I apologize. Please, continue."

"Look, I had my reasons--"

"You said that. Twice, now."

"--but I don't owe anyone an explanation. Least of all Faye. And just because we slept together doesn't mean that anything's changed between us, all right? I don't know what she told you, but she's the one that pulled the gun on me. So whatever you were going to say, just keep that in mind."

With that, Spike sank back into the couch, the smirk spreading over his lips indicating that he was, indeed, rather pleased with himself.

"Actually," Jet began, attempting to hide the smile he felt tugging at his lips, "I was going to say 'I don't think this is a conversation we should be having while you're drunk.' But now I'm curious to know what you think she told me."

"You mean she hasn't called?"

"Nope."

Spike just huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Jet wasn't sure if it was a sign of concern, surrender, or just plain indifference. In either case, he was going to be sure that Spike heard him out for once.

"The day she came back to the Bebop before you two left for Venus was the first time I've seen her in two years."

"So?"

"The last time I saw her she was—acting strange. Unusual. She was drunk."

His comment just elicited raucous laughter. "Oh, yeah? You aren't very well-acquainted with the strange and unusual, are you?"

Jet shot him a glare. "Shut up, Spike. I mean, she was completely trashed—just stumbling through the halls. She was smoking a pack of your cigarettes and tearing apart her room looking for something. When I asked her what she was looking for, her eyes just sort of glazed over and—" he shrugged.

"And?"  
"She didn't have an answer for me. After that she finished the fifth of whiskey and the cigarettes and I never saw her again. Just disappeared. Took the red tail and left everything else behind."

"I'm failing to see your point."

"Look, Spike…I don't know what you and Faye had together. Or didn't have together. I don't know what's going on between you two now, and I sure as _hell_ don't want to know what's behind you two sleeping together. But—" He paused, closing his eyes and raising a hand to roughly massage the back of his neck. "—But when you left…something changed. Something about her…"

"No." Spike said forcefully, shaking his head. "Don't you dare try and pin this one on me, Jet. Don't—"

Jet ignored him and continued. "That night, she was looking for something she'd lost. Something that disappeared along with you when you left that hangar.

"Don't wanna hear it, Old Man."

Jet slammed a fist against the metal coffee table, and the loud, hollow crash resounded from the walls. For a moment Spike was all flailing limbs and rustling clothes; then he was wincing, clutching his head in his hands and shooting a fierce glare across the coffee table.

"Enough. Fucking listen, and listen good, Spike. Honestly, I'm blown away by the fact that she didn't empty a clip into your chest the minute she saw you. She's changed. And it didn't happen when she left the Bebop in search of her past, or when she met Luke Kennedy, or even when she fucking married him. It happened the instant you turned your back on her and walked down that hallway. The way you let the few remaining pieces of her fucked-up life bleed out when you decided yours just wasn't worth living. There was a part of her that died with you, Spike. And I don't think she ever forgave you for that."

"Great, so now you're saying that I deserve it? That she's fucking justified in wanting to blow my goddamn brains out?

"No. I'm saying I get it. That it makes more sense than you realize."

"Un-fucking-believable," Spike muttered, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "I had my--"

"—Reasons. I know."

"Don't mock me. I'm too drunk and too hungover to deal with your bullshit, too. So tell me why you're telling me all of this."

"You mean besides the fact that you're a cocky son-of-a-bitch who deserves to be taken down a peg?"

"Yeah. Besides that."

"Because I want you to find her before she gets herself killed. Because I still want you to bring in Bosch. Because, in a way, I think this is at least partially your fault."

"Just so you know, Jet, during an attempted manipulation—like the one currently underway—I'd choose to go with flattery. More effective that way," he said, pushing himself off the couch and to his feet.

"So?"

"So, what?"

"So, where are you going?"  
"To take a fucking nap," he said, walking in the direction of his room.

"Where's the cash from Bosch?" Jet called after him.

"In the bank."

"What?"  
Spike muttered something under his breath as he stopped and turned to face Jet one again. "In. The. Bank."

"And you're going to find her, right? You're going to go looking for Faye?"

Spike had started walking down the hall again, and he just waved his hand dismissively in Jet's direction.

"You know," Jet called after him, "one of these days you're going to need to learn to man-up and take responsibility for the messes you make. Do your own damage control for once."

Spike paused mid-step and visibly stiffened, keeping his back toward Jet. "When I left--" He stopped for a moment to take a breath and curled his fingers into a fist at his side. Then he exhaled slowly, relaxing his fist and letting his shoulders slump as he did so. "It wasn't just about me, if that's what you think. I knew full well what I was doing, and—" Jet watched as he shook his head. "Listen, take your own advice this time, Old Man. If you want the woman, go find her yourself."

* * *

Spike struck the control pad by his door with his fist, wholly unsatisfied with the quiet wooshing sound the door made as it closed. If there was one thing he hated about push-button technology, it was the fact it had made even the simple gesture of slamming a door obsolete. And considering the fact that he never gave push-button technology much thought, he supposed it now topped his newly created list of "things I hate about push-button technology."

He crossed the room and collapsed onto his bed, the metal springs in the old mattress creaking under his weight. Go find Faye. Jet's orders replayed over and over again in his mind. Do some damage control. Go find Faye. Why did everything in his life always come down to finding Faye? The safe's been cleaned out: go find Faye. We're out of food: go find Faye. You narrowly escaped being murdered by your ex-partner: go find Faye.

He turned onto his side and grunted as he felt something sharp prick against his rib. Rolling onto his back, he reached into the interior pocket of his trench coat and pulled out Faye's broken water globe. How the hell had it ended up in his coat again? He turned the small object over in his hands, examining it carefully. Paint had started to chip away from the once brightly-colored bird at its center, and a few bars of the porcelain cage had broken and disappeared. He wondered for a moment just how long he'd kept the damn thing with him. He remembered taking it the night he left. And he remembered seeing it when he woke up—sitting near his bedside, the only object in an otherwise empty hospital room.

A year and a half. He'd had the damned thing for a year and a half. When she found out, she asked him why he took it with him—why, of all the things he could take from her, he'd choose to steal a keepsake from her dresser.

At first, he didn't have an answer for her. Faye should have known better than anyone that he rarely had an explanation for the insanely stupid shit he did—so why would she think this particular case would be the exception to the rule? Still, the fact that he had the thing in the first place, and the fact that he'd kept it for well over a year, had bothered him. He must have held onto it for _some _reason.

But the only reason he could think of—the only one that came to mind—was one he just couldn't quite work out in his head. A reason he could hardly even understand, much less accept.

* * *

**A/N: Wow. The last time I updated was in MARCH?! I sincerely apologize for the lack of updates, guys. My life has been a bit busy, and there is no sign of it getting less busy any time soon--BUT I won't let something silly like organic chemistry get in the way of my writing fanfic every now and again. It's important to not lose sight of what really matters in life, right? So for now, don't worry about me abandoning Tuesday. I promise you it's always in the back of my mind. :)**

**And again, I ought to give the obligatory thanks--especially to those of you who are still reading after all this time. I know I haven't always been the best author as far as updates are concerned, but I really appreciate you guys sticking with me! I'm glad to know that people are still enjoying this crazy thing I call a story.**

**Much love, **

**Nevi**


	20. Across the Universe

**Chapter Twenty:**

**Across the Universe**

_Words are flying out like  
endless rain into a paper cup  
They slither while they pass  
They slip away across the universe  
Pools of sorrow waves of joy  
are drifting thorough my open mind  
Possessing and caressing me_

_Jai guru deva om  
Nothing's gonna change my world

* * *

_

Faye tightened her grip on the Glock in her hand and relished the feeling of the cool metal against her hot palms.

She loved this—the feeling she got right before firing off a round. The calm. The silence. The sound of her pulse thrumming in her ears, letting her know she was still alive. She'd loved it as long as she could remember—since she was a child and had learned how to fire her Red Ryder.

A slender finger squeezed the trigger, the bullet leaving the barrel amidst a brief flash of flame and sound before burying itself within the trunk of a nearby tree with a heavy thunk.

She remembered this. Firing round after round off into the trunks of palm trees in her back yard. Only these days her weapon of choice happened to be a Glock 9 millimeter rather than a toy BB gun. She squeezed off another round, the bullet making a perfect hole in the trunk of the tree in her back yard. She smirked. Her mother had always hated it when she shot at the trees.

The memory had come back to her when she'd drawn her gun on Spike in their hotel room. She knew because she felt something eerily familiar grip her heart as she looked into his eyes while her fingers tightened around the handgrip. Not the usual calm she'd grown accustomed to, but something unsettling and wild. It was the same feeling she'd had as a girl when her first crush, Frankie McCallister, had dared her to shoot at her brother's pet gecko.

She had never liked geckos. They seemed to run rampant in Singapore, and a few days before Frankie had come to her house after school for the first time, her brother Sam had managed to catch one. He kept it in a shoe box beneath his bed, and he tortured her with it every chance he got. The thought of getting even with him thrilled her, and she remembered the way her small hands shook as she lifted the lid off the shoebox.

She stared down at the lizard for a long moment, and it stared back at her, blinked, and then licked its eye before fixing its gaze on a dead fly resting on a tissue in the corner of the box. Faye grimaced.

"This is going to be _so_ awesome," Frankie said as he snatched the gecko up in his hands awkwardly.

Faye stared after Frankie as he scampered down the hall and out the large sliding glass doors of the living room and into the back yard. She rose to her feet slowly and followed him, picking up her gun from where it rested against a large palm tree.

Freddy placed the lizard on a fence post and kept it in place by weighing its tail down with a large rock. The gecko twisted uncomfortably.

"Bet 'cha can't hit it on the first shot," he said.

Faye lifted her nose in the air. "Bet I can."

"Prove it."

She raised the gun to her shoulder, curling her finger around the trigger as she focused on the gecko. Again it stared back at her, blinking slowly, and she felt her hands begin to tremble and her heart race.

"Don't you think that this is kinda a dumb idea?" she asked, lowering the gun. "He'll be just as upset if we just set it free, and there are plenty of cans to shoot at."

"Sounds to me like you're chicken."

"I'm not chicken. It could be messy."

"Chicken."

"And it's—"

"You know, Faye, you are really starting to sound like such a girl. If I wanted to spend time with someone prissy I could just walk home with Sally Henderson."

Faye's eyes narrowed. "I'm nothing like Sally Henderson."

Freddy smiled. "Prove it."

She felt her throat tighten as she lined up the lizard in her sights again. Her hands were clammy and her finger slipped against the trigger as she accidentally squeezed off a round.

She heard the explosion of the gunshot. She'd squeezed her eyes closed as she fired, and through the static in her head she heard Frankie yell, "Hey, nice shot!"

She opened her eyes and found the lizard laying on its back, its tail still pinned beneath the rock. The small BB had ripped a hole through the right side of its belly. Faye felt her throat tighten and tears began to burn in her eyes.

Frankie laughed and slapped her on the back. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, killer," he said.

* * *

Faye quickly fired three more rounds into the base of the tree. Why Spike had suddenly reminded her of a gecko she'd accidentally killed when she was eleven was lost on her. Well, aside from the glaringly obvious reasons, anyway—he was slimy, coldblooded…and she assumed that with enough practice he could_ learn_ to lick his eyeballs…

Another bullet slammed into the tree trunk.

She'd never forgotten the first time she took a life. Hadn't forgotten the look on her brother's face when he found out. Hadn't forgotten crying herself to sleep for weeks afterward wishing she could undo what she'd done. She really hadn't meant to kill the little animal—she'd only wanted to get back at Sam for being such a jerk to her. To impress Frankie. To prove she was more than just a little girl.

Faye sighed and tucked the gun back into her holster. Whether she was seeking revenge or trying to impress them, she never could seem to get things right with men. Not that she'd ever tried to impress Spike, of all people. That was just about revenge—which, of course, she had managed to royally fuck up. Just like always.

She took a breath and smoothed her hands over the ratty sweatpants she was wearing--the ones she'd found stashed under the seat of the red tail. She left the hotel with nothing but the clothes on her back. All her bags, all her makeup, all her clothes, everything had been left behind—which presented a problem. Spike was right about at least one thing; she knew she couldn't go back to Luke. Telling him she'd decided to fuck Spike rather than kill him certainly wouldn't go over well. And it wasn't as though she could just show up on the Bebop as though nothing had happened.

She walked through the ruins of her childhood home and found a crumbling wall on the south side of the lot. She turned and leaned her back against it as she slid to a sitting position on the ground. She was stuck here. Between past and present, gawking awkwardly before an uncertain future—somewhere strange and in-between. Somewhere she barely existed. Clinging to an illusory past, and horrified by a contrived future.

Faye closed her eyes and let the breeze brush her tangled hair across her cheeks. And Spike was right about something else—there was little doubt in her mind that once Luke_ did_ find her, she'd be finished. Gunned down by one of his syndicate grunts in an alley. Poisoned by her next meal at a four star restaurant. Asphyxiated by the motel clerk on whatever planet she decided to call home for the next few days. Luke had his hands in everyone's business.

Spike had been wrong about one thing, though. He assumed she didn't love her husband. That she'd latched onto Lucas Kennedy merely because he'd presented her with an opportunity she'd wanted to take. As if she were no better than one of his low-level syndicate grunts. The only difference being the glittering rock on her left hand.

But she wasn't one of his henchmen, and he had never treated her that way. There was something different between them. Something that extended beyond a mere partnership of convenience.

They'd needed one another; in a very deep, and visceral sort of way, they'd needed one another. Like a fucked up symbiosis. They fed off their mutual need for revenge. Off of one another. Off their need for some kind of human connection, however base or fleeting. Did that mean she loved him? She wasn't sure. She didn't pretend to understand what that meant, and she didn't care. But she knew that what she felt for him—whatever it was—was something new. Something foreign. He'd given her something she could hold onto. Something solid. And for that, she'd be forever grateful. He had provided her with security and stability when she'd needed it most, and she'd given him—everything. Her body. Her freedom. Her loyalty.

Spike.

The one thing she'd been sure would be the easiest to give up. The one person she thought she'd be willing to offer up on a silver platter, had been the hardest to part with. Even harder realizing he'd never been hers to give up in the first place. Had never belonged to her in the sense she'd believed be had.

She thought he'd belonged to her in the way that Jet and the Bebop belonged to her. As a part of her past. A part of her future. A part of Faye Valentine—whoever the hell that was.

But in the end she'd realized he'd never been hers in the first place. Never hers to give up, or even lose.

She felt her shoulders sag against the dilapidated wall of her childhood home. She was so tired. So tired of smiling—of crying. Tired of running. So tired of playing all the right cards and always losing. She felt as though the universe had begun slowly folding in on her. As if time itself was winding down around her. Sliding over her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Drawing her close as it spun into a single point, threatening to blink her into oblivion.

The feeling was nothing new. Before she'd abhorred it. She'd found so many ways to keep it from nipping at her heels. Alcohol. Sex. The rush of pain she felt as her fists connected with human flesh. Now she welcomed the emptiness. She could no longer fear the loss of a woman she didn't know. Someone she hadn't been. She felt an odd sort of peace in accepting that.

Tomorrow she'd be back on her feet. She'd acquire a few money cards—enough so that her movements couldn't be tracked when they were reported stolen—and find a new bounty. One she could manage on her own, but worth enough to tide her over until she could disappear again. Another planet. Another life. Lather, rinse, repeat.

She harbored no illusions of her situation. She knew she couldn't just fall off the Dragons' radar—not forever, anyway. Not even Spike had managed that one. Though, she supposed in a large way that was mostly her fault. She knew, too, that Luke would find her. And when he did, he'd kill her.

And for now, sick as it was, she was okay with that. She'd ride this out as long as it lasted and then... Well, she did say "'Till death do us part." She smirked at the revelation and settled her head back against the crumbling wall.

Imagine that. She'd finally made a promise she could keep.

* * *

**A/N: So, I'm going to apologize again. My life has been crazy busy lately with work and school and, as usual, my writing has fallen by the wayside. Honestly, I had been away from it for so long that I had almost forgotten how much I missed it! Apologies and excuses aside, I am going to confirm again that I will NOT be giving up on this fic. Even though I had put this story on the backburner in part because of my busy schedule, another huge problem was the fact that I had sort of hit a dead end plot wise. But I'm happy to report that, after many late night chats with my homegirl animecatdragon, I am ready to take the next step with this fic—and I'm crazy excited about it! Also I need to send out a huuuuge thank you to everyone who is STILL reading and reviewing. I had thought eventually people would give up on this fic and forget about it, but I was wrong. You guys aren't letting me off the hook, and I love you for it! You're the reason I was inspired to start writing again, and for that I'm very thankful.**

**So, with that off my chest, look forward to more updates in the near future! I know this chapter was sort of transitional, but things should be picking up soon.**

**Until next time,**

**Nevi**


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